#enjoy the angst cause this au is full of it no surprises there!!

[peachdues]

COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? It’s more likely than you think.

This was supposed to be a bad boy!Sanemi takes your virginity drabble that spiraled into a meta-analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred that then blew up into a fic with plot. All of those elements are still present but surprise!! Enjoy 24k words of my brain rot.

Inspired by @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 ‘s wonderful meta analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred and his scars.

CW: 24k • explicit sexual content • MDNI • gang-related violence • mentions of blood and broken bones • mentions of murder/death • loss of virginity • creampie • vaginal fingering • some angst

I have plenty more of this AU written, so if y’all want more, just let me know 🫡

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.

Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.

And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.

This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.

The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that he’d not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.

Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies — mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

Largely monetary debts — collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.

But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money — it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.

Life debts.

In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.

Their executions had been quick and without fuss — or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.

But even though the spray of their brains hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.

He will never be able to wash them clean.

But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.

The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).

And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — against the organization that owns you.

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.

But then he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.

They were late.

The job was simple, and well within Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldn’t get elsewhere.

He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.

The stupid, greasy fuck.

By the time he’d finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.

And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.

Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But he’d received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.

Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.

Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.

Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty — disquietingly so.

Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.

Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.

He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.

One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits —

A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.

The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.

The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.

“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”

“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.

He’ll be dealt with later — and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.

Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corps’ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.

So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He can’t be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.

He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.

He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.

The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.

Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there —

A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.

No good.

“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.

Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t fully fucked himself.

Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street — one that borders the city’s western wing.

It’ll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.

He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.

But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.

He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.

Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.

It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.

His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You know him; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.

You know he’s from the Silo — a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.

But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.

It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

So you hadn’t been surprised when you’d heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before he’d even graduated high school.

You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.

If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.

But you owed him.

Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.

But one afternoon, when you’d had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, she’d ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.

Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.

But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parents’ home.

You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.

His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.

You’d been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.

Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerk’s counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.

There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.

A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isn’t stupid enough to try and shift.

One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”

You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”

The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.

Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counter’s edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.

But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.

“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.

There’s a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.

In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But it’s the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.

That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well — at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.

However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle he’d found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.

You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.

He has scars he’d not had in your youth — jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.

A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.

“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“

“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”

He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.

“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.

You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“

But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.

—-

By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.

As it turned out, Maeda hadn’t sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.

There’s a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.

He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash he’d received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.

He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book he’d swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.

Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.

Take your trouble somewhere else.

Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.

You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.

Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.

What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

The Corps isn’t the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.

The Kizuki.

In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.

Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadn’t been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.

Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.

There are whispers that they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.

Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.

But that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.

Either way, he doesn’t know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he can’t afford to make.

Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.

He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.

Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and don’t visit home often, if ever.

Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.

Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But it’s that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.

Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.

Or so he tells himself.

The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.

He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.

The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — remained fixed in his brain for years after.

And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.

He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.

Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.

With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.

He wonders what will kill him first — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.

Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t yet bonded with his skin.

But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where he’d placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.

And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.

—

Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.

Sanemi doesn’t really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguro’s regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.

The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. He’d kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.

That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.

So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.

His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.

He doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s looking for an escape just as much as he is.

Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.

Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.

At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.

And, after all, he’s the one desperate for relief.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.

He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girl’s clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”

—-

Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.

He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.

He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that day’s sins.

The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.

Step.

A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

The crush of bone under the iron pipe he’d found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.

Green; the color of the money he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.

Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstore’s front steps.

For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.

The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.

He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s pushing the door open.

His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.

That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.

“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”

It’s incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”

That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”

His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”

You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”

Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.

You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.

He doesn’t take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.

“Fine, here,” he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.

He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”

Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”

He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.

“This can’t be your dream life.”

You don’t have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.

Like he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.

Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”

“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”

His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.

You slide his book across the counter. “Have the day you deserve.”

His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”

You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you don’t see him toss another note on the counter.

He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“

“Nah, I didn’t,” he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.

Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.

—

His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

You frown. It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, as grating as it was.

Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.

You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.

Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).

Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.

Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.

Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.

But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.

You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate snake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

——-

Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what you’d imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).

Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.

And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.

Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.

Since that day, you’ve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.

That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.

That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.

You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.

Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And he’s said to be very well-endowed.

It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.

You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.

—

“You look like shit.”

You startle up from where you’d been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.

You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.

Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”

It’s a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.

Your stomach grumbles fiercely. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.

The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.

But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. “Is it poisoned?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”

Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.

Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”

You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”

“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”

The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”

The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”

“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”

It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t yet been able to pick apart.

You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when he’s been such a consistent pain in your ass.

Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you don’t see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.

You see only the boy on your stoop; the one who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.

And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”

Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.

And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.

—-

In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s probably fucked himself.

His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps — number Three, in particular.

But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.

It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.

Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.

He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though he’s steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.

It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.

You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s rare for him to encounter in his world.

Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.

He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.

And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t find it in him to tell you no.

The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.

For starters, the neighborhood you live in isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzui’s business — another Hashira.

And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.

He supposes he can see its appeal — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.

You’ve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.

A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re distracted.

Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.

It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.

But it’s still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.

Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock — the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though he’s not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.

The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.

The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.

Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.

It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.

With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.

He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.

He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and it’s a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.

In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life — namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, you’re always there to pull him back.

Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.

He can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.

Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit he’s guilty for.

It’s selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.

So, he makes a promise. He won’t show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they don’t.

With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.

And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.

“What dream?” You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.

He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”

You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno. Curious.”

“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”

Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”

“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”

“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”

And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.

His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.

“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”

Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.

Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“

“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”

You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.

Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”

—

Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.

By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.

You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. “Are you walking me home?”

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.

Better he’s there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.

Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.

He wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.

Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.

He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.

You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”

Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”

You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.

Your door gives way and you turn back to him. “‘Til next time?”

It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.

“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.

You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.

“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”

He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.

That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.

As long as it was more than this.

But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”

———

Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

More importantly, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”

Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.

Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.

It’s evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.

But perhaps the most significant detail you’ve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while you’re watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you won’t see him for the rest of the day.

It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.

Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.

Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t believe he will have one.

That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.

A cop-out, is what it is.

But his reading habits betray his darkest secret — betray the truth — and that’s exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.

The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. He’s read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.

He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.

But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.

You opened to the first page of of a tale — an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beast’s rose.

You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.

Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True love’s kiss, or something along those lines.

True love.

And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.

And that’s how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.

He wants out.

He wants a happily ever after. He doesn’t think he’ll get it.

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d first burst into your bookstore.

It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.

Sanemi’s name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.

You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.

You open the door and the flutter of excitement you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.

There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.

The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.

Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.

“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”

“You mean icy-hot?” You’re already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.

You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where they’re propped up on the back of your chair.

You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).

Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.

Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.

He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.

But, you’re only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.

And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.

Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.

“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”

You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.

You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.

Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.

“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Your medical expertise is astounding,” Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.

“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”

You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.

“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”

He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”

You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.

You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.

You wouldn’t have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but there’s a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.

A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.

Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”

Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.

But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.

A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.

Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”

There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.

Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.

“It’s barbaric,” you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you aren’t someone he can confide in.

But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.

He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.

You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.

But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.

Intimate.

Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone — the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.

But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps it’s because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.

You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.

Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.

Yet, you don’t stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.

You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.

Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”

You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”

A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.

“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.

And then he turns and leaves.

You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.

And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.

An old rumor, one you hadn’t considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.

The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.

Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.

You’re in love with Sanemi.

It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.

It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.

You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.

You won’t.

—

Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.

Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t get overly attached.

It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.

Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.

Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.

Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.

He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.

But now, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.

Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.

As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.

If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.

Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.

As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.

Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.

So he’d let you down — but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure he’d never fully known what home truly felt like.

And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.

He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.

The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.

One of Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.

They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.

Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.

Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.

Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadn’t yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.

He hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.

The hours passed by in a blur once Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when he’d begun walking in its direction.

He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldn’t bother you —

His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.

Despite the late hour, you’d greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.

Safe; you were safe.

Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.

You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.

And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.

His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.

But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.

Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.

A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.

Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.

More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.

But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.

He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.

He will rot you from the inside, out.

His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.

You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.

Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.

In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.

He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.

You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.

Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.

You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.

And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)

But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.

He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.

A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.

He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.

Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.

He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.

His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.

It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.

You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

He recoils from you like a kicked dog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.

But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.

This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.

The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.

Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.

You want more, and he needs you, too.

His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.

One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.

He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.

Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.

But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.

Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.

More. He needs more.

He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.

Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.

The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.

As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.

He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.

He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.

He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.

Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.

He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.

With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.

“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.

He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.

You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.

A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.

One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.

A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.

The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.

He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.

His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.

You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.

Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.

He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.

Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.

Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.

The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.

But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.

Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.

He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.

Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.

He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.

But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.

He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.

The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.

Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.

The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.

The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.

Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.

With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.

His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.

Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.

He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.

Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.

You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”

With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.

You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.

But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.

Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.

With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.

You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.

He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.

He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.

When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.

His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.

And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.

He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.

Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.

Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.

One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.

His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.

His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.

The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.

He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.

So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.

The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.

Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.

You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.

With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.

You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.

The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.

Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.

But he needs to see you, first.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.

Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.

But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.

He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.

He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.

One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”

It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.

Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.

Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.

He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.

It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.

He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.

He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.

His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.

Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.

He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.

His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.

But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.

Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.

He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.

But he can try.

He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny fic #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #kny smut #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x you #sanemi smut #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi x y/n

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #20

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

The fire keeps everyone warm and creates a calm atmosphere around you. It's sad, this is your last night here and you wish you could stay longer. Your camping trip is slowly coming to an end, and all you can do is fully enjoy it while it lasts. And you do, by sipping beer and talking to Jimin who's sitting beside you. From the corner of your eyes, there's Jungkook rummaging through containers full of snacks as he contemplates which one to choose. And he's not alone, there's Kiko standing beside him and laughing at something he says when a bunny grin appears on his face.

"You don't mind?" Jimin speaks up, snapping you out of your thoughts and observation. You realize you weren't listening to him and got distracted, that's why an apologetic smile appears on your face before your brows frown in confusion.

"Mind what?" you ask, seeing Jimin's eyes shifting somewhere over your shoulder and you know what he's looking at the moment, he looks back at you.

"Them talking." he answers carefully, looking at you with the same pitiful look Hoseok gave you during your hike.

"Why would I? Just because she's his ex, it doesn't mean he can't talk to her. He's a free human, I'm in no place to tell him whom he can talk to or can't." you shrug carelessly, reaching for the beer can as you take another sip.

"Yeah, I know that... I guess, I'm just surprised. You're right here and he's there talking to her, staring at her and—" he stops himself before he can say something else, his eyes leaving your face as he looks at the mentioned couple. "Never mind." he gives you a smile, a weak one that you pretend to ignore.

In times like these, you wish you could tell him the truth. To tell him that he doesn't have to worry about your feelings, or the fact Jungkook is there staring at her with heart eyes and having the time of his life, because it's not real. Your relationship is not real and it's all pretended. But you can't, you promised that to Jungkook and even though, sometimes you get the urge of wanting to tell someone close, you don't. Maybe it's that little knowing feeling that you'd feel embarrassed. Although Jimin isn't a judging person, you can imagine his reaction perfectly. He'd probably scream something like 'Are you guys stupid?!'

No matter what goes through Jimin's mind, he decides not to say it out loud and puts his arms over your shoulders, hugging you and pulling you closer to him.

"I've no idea who bought this beer, but it tastes like piss." he whispers into your ear, causing you to erupt in laughter while he joins you.

From the corner of your eyes, you notice Jungkook and Kiko walking away without saying a single word. Everyone seems to be too busy noticing that, but you do.

"Let's play UNO!" Hoseok says, already pulling out cards from one of his bags while Taehyung's groan resounds.

"I never understand the rules." he whines, but still straightens himself to prepare for the game.

While everyone starts to play the card game, Jungkook and Kiko are out of everyone's sight, slowly walking around the lake.

"How's your ankle? Does it still hurt?" Jungkook asks, not hiding his worry while it makes her smile. She's not subtle, Jungkook notices it and his heart starts to do little jumps at that.

"No, it's fine. Thank you for taking care of me." She thanks him.

"Always," he whispers, but too audibly to her ears and he quickly coughs. "I barely did anything, I just carried you."

"That's a lot and I appreciate it," she tells him, "I'm sorry if me coming here is weird or uncomfortable." she blurts out, causing Jungkook to stop as he stares at her with widened eyes.

"What are you talking about?" he frowns in confusion.

Kiko sighs, stopping as well as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You and Y/N are dating right now, and here you are, taking care of me. I don't want to cause any trouble, Kookie."

That freaking nickname makes his heart jump again and he's so close to hugging her. Oh fuck, what would he do to hug her again.

"You're not causing any trouble," he says quickly, shaking his head. "We are both fine with you being here. I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" she raises her brows in shock.

"Of course," he nods, "You know... I don't hate you. I could never hate you, no matter how our relationship ended." he says, although the mention of their relationship makes his stomach clench uncomfortably.

This can't be the end. No, he can't lose her. But he still forces those words out of his mouth, silently waiting and watching closely her reaction. She sucks in a breath, looking away almost shamelessly and it sparks interest in Jungkook, not the good kind though. It's because he knows there's something more to her reaction and the whole situation.

"You probably should." she mutters, letting out a chuckle that's nothing but fake and forced. It pains him to see her this way, so broken and guilty.

"What? Hate you? Impossible." Jungkook scoffs, staring into her eyes to let her know that he means it.

Despite her saddened gaze, Kiko forces herself to smile. "That's good to know." she chuckles, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously.

"Kik," he mutters, her eyes snapping from her dirty sneakers to his.

He can see how much that nickname affects her. It's not the same when Hoseok or any of her friends call her that. When she hears Jungkook say it, it's like nobody calls her that and it's the most important and beautiful word at the same time. And yet, it's just a simple nickname.

"I know you said you needed some time for yourself, but I don't believe that."

"Kookie—"

"No, let me finish please," he sighs, pleading with her with his doe eyes that makes her shut up and listen to him. "I know it's not the real reason why you broke up with me."

"It is!" she exclaims, growing nervous and unnecessarily defensive which Jungkook recognizes immediately.

"Hoseok told me, Kiko." he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He told me."

"What?" she breathes out, her face paling in the brightest shade of white and even he can notice it in such darkness. She feels like she's about to faint any second.

"Well, he didn't tell me the reason. Actually, he didn't even tell me himself, I kind of figured there's something more to this. All he said is that it's not his place to tell me anything and I respect that. He's a great friend, but I deserve to know the truth. Don't you think?"

She stands frozen, barely blinking before she slowly nods. "You do, but you'll hate me." she whispers, her eyes filling with tears while Jungkook's ones widen and he swears he can feel his heart crack.

"I told you, I could never hate you," he tells her, assuring her but still, it doesn't assure her and she scoffs under her breath as she sniffles. "I'm sure it's something we can fix."

Her face looks even more broken after he says it and he almost whines at the helplessness he feels.

"Unfortunately, it's not. And you'll hate me once you find out." she sniffles, holding back her tears.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate, he moves fast and before Kiko can realize, he's hugging her tightly. Her arms wrap around his frame after a moment of realization, burying her face into his chest as she takes a sniff of his scent. His cheek is pressed against the top of her head, closing his eyes when his heart feels whole again. He missed this so fucking much. 

He wants to enjoy this feeling, and he really does, until his head starts to prevail over his heart and all those predictions come back to life. But even then, he's not opening his mouth nor moving away from her.

Just a little longer, he thinks before they both part at the same time but still stay in close proximity.

She recognizes that look, the saddened one as he's about to say something that might break his or her heart but she can't stop him. She's been practically lying to him, because she didn't add another reason why she broke up with him when Jungkook asked. Although, she really needed some time for herself. To learn how to live with that guilt she's been carrying for a couple of months.

"Have you cheated on me?" he asks, watching her mouth open in shock before she quickly gets a grip of herself.

She's silent, avoiding his eyes as she stares at the darkened lake instead. He sees the wheels running in her mind and decides to encourage her to tell him the truth, even if it's going to break his heart all over again.

"You can tell me, I'm not going to hate you." he reminds her.

How could she think he could ever hate her? 

Sighing, she closes her eyes for a brief moment before she looks at Jungkook. "Yes." she whispers, causing him to freeze in place.

It was just a wild guess, something that's been bothering his mind for a couple of weeks. But her saying it, admitting that, just breaks him all over again and he literally freezes at her words. With worried eyes, she calls out his name but all he can hear is the one and simple word she said. She just confirmed something he feared of, he didn't think it could be true. You said she wouldn't do it.

"Jung—"

"Who?" he asks in a low tone, embracing herself to look into her teary eyes.

"Jung—"

"Who?" he asks, much broken this time and she sobs, shaking her head. "Was it Hoseok?"

Her eyes widen and she starts to shake her head abruptly, holding onto Jungkook for her dear life. "Jungkook, please!"

She's begging him to stop, he doesn't need to know more. It'll only hurt him even more.

"Just tell me." he says deeply, voice shaking while he remains to keep his face neutral.

"No, of course not! Hoseok is my best friend!" she exclaims, shaking her head as if the idea is completely ridiculous. "I'm so sorry, Jungkook." she sniffles again, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Who was it then?" he still presses, hurting himself even more and Kiko sees that. But she also knows he won't stop bringing it up until she answers him.

So with a deep sigh, she looks on the ground not willing to look into Jungkook's eyes as her velvety but shaky voice resounds.

"You don't know him." she mumbles, shutting her eyes like she's the one who got so hurt. Like she's the one who just found out the love of her life cheated.

"What have I done? Was I not good enough of a boyfriend?"

It's unbelievable how much control Jungkook has over his features and attitude, because he barely reacts. It's like he's numb to everything right now.

"You were perfect."

"Then why would you ever cheat on me?" he whispers, clenching his jaw to prevent himself from crying.

"I-it was a mistake, I'd never do it again. I regret it and I'll have to live with it for the rest of my life. You've to believe me, Jungkook." she begs, but she's met with silence and numb Jungkook.

"T-that's why I broke up with you. I couldn't just look you in the eyes and pretend everything's okay." Her voice shivers as she gulps down the huge lump in her throat.

"You should've told me, maybe we could work it out," he says pathetically.

"What? Would you still want to be with me after I told you that? Jungkook, listen to yourself. It'd be torture for you." she scoffs, although it's completely sad.

"Maybe, but that's how much I love you." he says, not saying anything further because he wants to spill his heart out. He wants to tell her that maybe, just maybe, he would look past that and try to pretend like nothing happened. That's how much he loves her, he's willing to act like she hasn't broken his heart — as long as he gets to have her by his side.

She seems to be taken back for a moment, replaying his words in her mind and wondering if it was just a slit up.

"I'm sorry I broke you, that was never my intention. But I see that you're better without me," he scoffs and she shakes her head, "No, you are. You don't need me, you don't need my love,"

Oh, how wrong she is. 

"You've Y/N now. She's a wonderful woman and she's the only one who can love you like I do."

He scoffs, almost bitterly laughing at her words. This is so wrong. She thinks you two are really dating, when in reality it's all an act and his way of winning her heart back. His mind is all over the place and he's not sure what he wants anymore. He needs to sit down and think it through without anyone by his side.

"If I was fine with," he gulps, "If I was fine with... what happened,"

He can't bring himself to actually say those words out loud and it pains Kiko, because she's the one who messed him up. However, she keeps her head low and listens to him.

"Would you still be with me?"

She opens her mouth, snapping her eyes towards him as she stares at him. Is he insane? Would he really be fine with it? 

"I—"

"Just answer honestly. Do you love me?"

"I don't think it's appropriate to express my feelings when you've a girlfriend, Jungkook. Don't break any heart like I did, you're so much better than I am." she pleads with him, but he only raises a brow at her.

All he cares about now is for her to answer his question. He needs it, he needs it so he can think it through and decide what's best for him.

"Do you love me?" he asks her slowly, keeping his tone low and eyes focused on hers.

Her pupils shake with nervousness, while her bottom lip shivers almost as if she was scared to answer honestly. Jungkook's doe eyes plead her, showing that there's nothing to be scared about.

"I do," she whispers, "I love you, but you deserve someone better."

"That's up to me," he tells her, turning around before he lets out a huge sigh. "Let's go back, I need some time to think." he mutters, not bothering to look back if she's following him but the quiet rustling of grass behind him tells him that she is.

"...so tell me, what's this boring person's job?" Namjoon asks, sipping on the beer as he adjusts the buckle hat covering his soft blond hair.

The fire still keeps you warm, although the little amount of beer flowing inside your system helps too. You've managed to make yourself relax, bonding with everyone much more until some more heated theme appeared to be the center of attention. Something, that you and Namjoon weren't part of so naturally, he sat down next to you and started to get to know you more.

The topics of your conversations haven't been that serious, it's actually very nice and light talk with someone you're getting to know. Namjoon is an interesting person with great opinions close to yours, even he can make you speechless with the choice of his words and how artistic he seems to be without even trying. And, that he's really clumsy and managed to knock Jimin's beer and Taehyung's soju, plus he tore off one of Hoseok's cards. That's when everyone decided it's time to finish the game, Taehyung's whining about how he doesn't understand the rules definitely helped.

You don't know why, but in a way Namjoon appears to you as mysterious but he's been nothing but very honest and open. He owns a book store where he holds reading sessions every Sunday where customers can recommend their favorite books and hold a conversation with everyone that decides to visit and be a part of their session. There is always a special guest, usually a writer, who openly converses with readers and customers. The writers can take this chance as a self-promotion but as Namjoon said, most of them are just passionate about writing and want to share their journey and story with everyone. Plus, he admitted that he's writing his own book but he's not sure if it'll ever get published. He didn't give you any more details, insisting on keeping it to himself for now and you respect that.

One fact you weren't surprised to hear, is that Namjoon has a girlfriend. She was supposed to be here, but according to Namjoon's words she's visiting her parents over the weekend. You're sure she's just as lovely as he is.

"I'm working in a modeling agency." you answer, chuckling when you see his big eyes.

"You're a model?"

"God, no. I'm, as you could say, a person for everything. Over the few months I worked there, I think I'm doing at least three positions I shouldn't be. My job is to set up dates of photoshoots, making sure everything would go as planned and as smoothly as possible. Oh, once I even had to try on some clothes because the model who was supposed to wear it, couldn't come to fittings. That's the closest I'd ever get to modeling," you snort, "But I don't mind it, it's good and it pays well."

Namjoon stares at you with a mere bewilderment, silently praising you for working so much. Not many people could handle this kind of job and responsibility. Sure, he has his own shop but to him, it feels like you're overworking yourself.

"Well, the fact that you can fit into clothes for models says a lot. Doesn't that make you a model?" he teases you, causing you to snort in response.

"Sometimes I barely fit into those tiny clothes. But no one else wants to do it." you shrug, explaining how it really is.

Your measurements are definitely not model-like. Even nowadays the industry tries to bring more curvy models, it's still not perfect and needs a lot of work, so women with different types of bodies can feel beautiful and normal. Not being judged by their weight or body type.

"That just shows how good of a person you are." he says with a smile, your lips stretching to a similar one.

Maybe he's just joking or saying it lightly, not putting that much thought into his words but still, it makes you happy and emotional at the same time. It's nice to hear such a thing, especially in today's world.

"Ah, stop it!" you giggle, nudging his shoulders as he laughs with you, exclaiming 'It's true!'

You're completely unaware of someone else's presence but that's until your laughter dies down and Namjoon's eyes trail somewhere in the distance. He coughs, almost awkwardly before he slightly pushes himself away from you, although he never invaded your personal space or anything close to it. You follow his vision, seeing Jungkook staring at the both of you before he looks away. Even that brief moment of the weird expression on his face makes you panic.

Something's wrong. 

"Excuse me," you mutter, your eyes still locked onto Jungkook who casually reaches towards a beer fan as gulps down almost all of it. "I just need to talk to Jungkook." you smile, glancing at Namjoon who just nods and doesn't question the sudden change in the air.

For sure, he noticed your mood shifting and attention focused on your best friend, but he doesn't question it. Namjoon's smart, he's probably thinking something but he's keeping it to himself. Giving him one of your weak smiles, you make your way over to Jungkook who stands a few meters away from everyone as he holds the beer can in his hand. The other one is hidden in the pocket of his sweatpants while he keeps staring ahead of him with a clenched jaw.

"Hey," you call out, but he barely reacts. You know he must've seen you coming towards him from the corner of his eyes, but damn, it still shocks you that he ignores you. "Are you okay, Kook?" you ask him carefully, eyeing his slumped figure.

"Why don't you go back to giggling with Namjoon, would you?" he barks, your brows shooting to your hairline as you stare at him before you let out a weak chuckle.

"Ouch, who hurt you?" you joke, but apparently your best friend doesn't find it funny and he explodes.

"I'm not in the mood, Y/N." he speaks dryly, obviously not in the mood for talking to you.

Y/N, okay he is pissed off. 

"I can see that," you snort, "But I'm here if you need to talk. Whatever happened—"

"For fucks sake, just leave me alone. Go back to Namjoon." he spits and you gape at him with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you so pissed off? Why are you even bringing Namjoon into this?" you ask in disbelief, but all you can see is his clenching his jaw even more. "Don't tell me you're jealous." you scoff, joking but he doesn't seem to take it as a joke when he glares at you.

Your heart jumps at the look he's giving you. He has never looked so angry at you. This is not your Jungkook.

"I'm not," he decides to clarify with an attitude in his tone, "But you're supposed to be my girlfriend and here you are giggling with some other guy. How does that make me look? How does that make us look?"

And you laugh. You actually laugh at him before you shake your head. "Is that what's bothering you? I don't know about you, but you're the one who sneaked out with his ex-girlfriend to God knows where. So, how does that make me look, huh?" you snap, seeing his eyes widen for a quick second before he's back to glaring at you.

"I didn't sneak out for fucks sake," he mutters, although doesn't protest further. "I just need some time alone."

He's pushing you away, you realize. And you're not the problem here. Something happened between him and Kiko, and he's obviously not ready to tell you and you're not going to force him to open up to you. He knows very well that you're here for him, but you're not going to remind him when he's acting this way. Underneath that layer of anger, you see his true and hidden emotion. He's hurt.

You're trying to look for Kiko, wondering if she's in the similar state like Jungkook is. You're met with a sight of Hoseok hugging her closely, almost hidden behind one of the tents. It's too dark to tell what they're doing, but from what you can see it seems like Hoseok is comforting Kiko.

Everyone's too busy to notice the atmosphere that flies in the air, nor Jungkook's and Kiko's state. They're too drunk and preoccupied with screaming drunken nonsense. The only one who seems to notice this is Namjoon but he respects everyone's privacy and preoccupies himself with staring into his phone.

"Okay," you whisper, shoulders dropping in defeat. "Whenever you want to talk, I'm here." you tell him and give him the space he so desperately wants. You're not sure whether he needs it, though.

If this was him during their breakup, possibly even worse, you've no idea what Taehyung and Jimin did to make him feel better.

That night, you're sleeping in the tent while slightly shivering from the cold, despite the fact that you're wearing at least three layers of clothing and that you're completely nestled in your sleep bag. Also, that night Jungkook doesn't pull you closer nor warms you up.

#networkbangtan #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #bts angst #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook fic #personasintro

[justalittlebitbored]

late nights - remus lupin

willow tree: part three excerpt

pairing/au: marauders era, remus lupin x reader

summary: you wake up to knocking on your window in the middle of the night on the night of the full moon. who else could it be but your werewolf best friend covered in blood.

warnings: angst, unrequited love, sadness, fluff, friends to lovers, childhood best friends to lovers. no use of y/n.

wc: 2.3k

a/n: RIGHT, this is an excerpt from my series willow tree, I wrote this in May when I was properly writing and sadly I started this series and I love it so much but I honestly don’t have the effort to keep writing. This scene however is such a pure wholesome scene and I’m sure those who have read the series will love it but I also think it can be a really good oneshot concept so enjoy!!!

To those who haven’t read willow tree, I don’t think u need too to understand this but I shall give context in case:

Reader and remus = besties. Reader realises she loves him, ‘unrequited’ love high jinks ensue, so she distances herself a little bit. Remus hasn’t come to reader during a full moon in a while as the marauders has started to care for him, in this one shit he comes to reader instead of

series masterlist main masterlist

Hearing a loud banging noise at your window was not quite the surprise you were expecting in the middle of the night.

Your curtains were closed but the motion sent them fluttering towards you. A million thoughts crossed your mind. What if someone was breaking in to rob you, what if you-

You heard a loud groan and then a vague, deep voice said your name. Was that Remus? Your name was said a bit louder this time. Yup that was definitely Remus. What on earth would he be doing here at this time of night?

You ran to the window and pulled the curtains open.

His bloodied body hung outside, his face leaning again the window ledge. Crap. Your fingers pulled the latch open before you could process your actions, the breeze caused the window to fly inwards nearly hitting you in the face.

"Remus!"

You grabbed his hands and attempted to drag his heavy body through the window. With his help you managed to pull him in. His body immediately slumped against yours and your knees nearly buckled under his weight. He was definitely heavier since the last time he had climbed through that window.

Managing to drag his body over to the bed, you led him down as gently as you could.

"Fuck. Remus what happened?"

Whilst running to close the window you nearly tripped on your clothes that you had taken off earlier that night and couldn't be bothered to put in your wash basket and nearly slammed your head on the radiator. Managing to close the window you immediately turned around and headed towards the bed and knelt down to grab the first aid kit that you were sure was under there somewhere.

"Come on you're here somewhere I know you are."

Although pleading with the first aid kit probably didn't do much it was more of a way to calm you down.

The boy on the bed let out a large groan and you could feel the sweat on the back of your neck begin to form and your hands beginning to clam up. Your fingers brushed against something hard. Aha, you found it. You curled your fingers around the handle and pulled it out whilst quickly standing up and placing it on the bed.

Remus let out a large groan and his arms curled around his middle as he looked like he was writhing in pain. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You had forgotten it was a full moon, you usually kept track of it but this month you must have forgotten, this wasn't a job you had done in a long time, the marauders mainly looked after him now. You hadn't seen him on a full moon in nearly two years except this one time in sixth year where he had ended outside your dorm under the willow tree by your window. By the time you had gotten out of bed and looked outside his friends were carrying him away.

Although James did shout a goodbye at you waving his hands fervently, apologising loudly.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." You hadn't done this in a long time and were quite out of practice. He had long deep gashes on his chest and shallower ones on his arms.

What do I do? What did he want me to do? Fuck.

"Remus, I don't know what to do. What do I do?" You asked, your hands shaking as your hovered them above his abdomen.

"I trust you. Just-" He grunted loudly. "-clean me up or something." He said loudly as he began to turn over onto his side.

"Okay? Okay. Right, should be easy enough?" You let out a long breath.

It's fine, it's going to be fine, you done this plenty of times before. What's the difference between now and then.

You quickly got to work cleaning his wounds with a wet rag, apologising as you went along every time he groaned.

You apologised a whole lot more when you had to apply hydrogen peroxide so that it didn't get infected. He let out cries of pain and your eyes stung with tears, you hated seeing him this way.

After quickly working for about twenty minutes you were finally finished. You walked over to your chest of drawers and pulled out a new t shirt and joggers for him. They were his that he had left round at yours before during movie nights. You would help him put the shirt on but you weren't so sure about the trousers, so you decided to leave those on the chair by your desk for now in case he had enough energy to get up and change into them himself.

"Hey, Remus." His eyes opened and he blinked at you softly so you continued. "Hi. Can you sit up for me for a moment so I can put this on you?" His attention was drawn to the top in your hands, he shuffled forward to edge of your bed and you attempted to get him into it.

His head leaned against your chest as he weakly lifted his arms up, eventually after a struggle you managed to get him in it.

He slumped back and you stood awkwardly at the side of your bed, you didn't know what to do now.

You let out a big breath you didn't realise you were holding in as your eyes began to close from how tired you were. You began to walk away to sit in your chair before you heard Remus call your name.

"Stay."

"I'm sorry?" You were confused.

"Can you stay? With me... in the bed." You blinked.

"Please?" He said with a tired chuckle. You could see him give you a meek smile, he looked exhausted, dark circles lining his eyes.

"Sure, yeah. Okay."

You slowly walked towards the bed unsure of where to go. He moved forward, opening a space behind him. You slowly climbed in, your back leaning again the pillow. He was sat up against the wall obviously in pain.

Hesitating for a moment, you placed your hand in his limp one and gently tugged, pulling him towards you.

You hoped he wouldn't say no or look at you funny.

Without saying anything he instantly fell forward, his head on your chest. You could feel his body immediately deflate. You hadn't done this in a long time; before fifth year this would happen every full moon, it was almost a ritual. You would clean him up and then he would lay his head on your chest and you both would cuddle until morning.

"I'm sorry. I don't like it when you see me like this." The words gently left his mouth. Your hand instantly flew to the back of his head, your fingers scratching at his head in a comforting motion. It was instinctual and you didn't realise you had done this until he left let out a soft whimper.

"It's okay, I don't mind." You whispered.

"I do. You don't need this burden on your shoulders." He said with a harsh tone, not directed at you though, you could tell he was aiming it at himselt.

"Hey, my shoulders are yours to use." You smiled softly at him. "Listen to me okay, I don't mind. I would rather you come to me and be safe than lie out there in those woods by yourself. Anytime you need me I will be there."

A harsh exhale left his mouth.

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done tonight without you." He looked up at me.

You had lied before, saying you had never seen anything as beautiful as the sunset. You had, and you were looking into them right now, Remus' deep golden brown eyes.

For a moment you think he's going to kiss you. His eyes dart to your lips before flickering up to your eyes again. Before he could do anything he smiles, almost sadly before resting his head on you, his head eyes dart to your lips before flickering up to your eyes again. Before he could do anything he smiles, almost sadly before resting his head on you, his head nuzzling against you chest.

"You were asleep, I'm sorry I woke you." He apologised.

"It's okay, I was awake." You lied, you were asleep but he already felt guilty enough you didn't want to make him feel any worse. He said okay quietly into your chest. After a couple minutes of comfortable silence he spoke again.

"I've missed you." He whispered into your chest.

You hands paused for a moment from its action of scratching the back of his head before promptly continuing.

"I'm right here."

He whispered again in a low voice. "I know, I've just missed you."

You didn't know how to respond to that so you just kept running your hands through his hair and after a while his breathing became steady and you assumed he'd fallen asleep.

You had missed him too, even with all of this weird tension and distance. You had missed him too. Your birthday was the only time recently where things had felt normal.

The way you were both led on your bed was anything but platonic but you didn't mind, he hadn't been this close to you in so long. You leant down and pressed a long kiss to the top of his head before leaning your head backward with a loud sigh. Eventually your eyes began to droop and before you knew it you had fallen asleep too.

You woke up in the morning to Remus shaking you softly. Your eyes fluttered open in confusion as your vision began to clear.

"Hi sweetheart." He smiled at you gently. "I need to go, thank you for looking after me. I'll see you later today okay."

Your brain wasn't functioning and your groggy mind couldn't bring you to do anything but produce a soft whimper, you were not a morning person.

His hand cupped your cheek and you leant into it, your lips almost brushing his palm in a soft kiss, whilst his other hand brushed your hair out of your eyes gently. Although you were in a state you could still make out the soft smile he gave you. He let out a shaky breath before leaning down and pressing lingering kiss against your forehead.

He moved away towards your window, you turned to your side to watch him turn around and look at you again for a long moment before turning and climbing out the window. You heard a soft click soon after.

You wish you had more time to think about what had happened but you were too tired to think and the next thing you knew you were out like a light.

After god knows how long your body jolted upright.

Remus was here last night, right? You looked to the side where a bloody rag led on your bedside table along with an opened first aid kit. He was here last night, you hadn't imagined it so you certainly didn't imagine him waking you up to say goodbye.

He called you sweetheart. God, he called you sweetheart. A small involuntary smile was on your face as you pushed your covers away and got out of bed. Your mouth was dry and you desperately need a glass of water so you walked out of your room with a stupid smile on your face and no matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop.

You walked into the kitchen hoping to get a glass of water when you saw Lily sat at the counter eating some toast. Your quietly wished her a good morning as you headed towards the cupboard to grab a glass.

"What were all those sounds last night?" Lily asked.

You froze, you didn't know how to approach this really since you knew that she would read into this situation and give it a deeper meaning and you really couldn't be asked for that right now.

You slowly turned around, grabbing a glass leaving the forefront of your mind.

"Umm... nothing it was just-" She raised her eyebrows and you knew there was no point in lying about it.

"It was Remus. It was the full moon last night and he just turned up, I didn't know what to do so I just cleaned him up."

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

"Oh. So is he still here or?" She questioned, an innocent look on her face.

"No. He's gone now."

She hummed. "So did you guys-"

"No!" You exclaimed cutting her off. "Nothing happened. Don't look at me like that Lily. Nothing happened, it was just one friend patching up another friend."

You really thought that she was going to ask more questions but she didn't say much but look at you with a knowing smile. You didn't know what game she was playing at, but you were glad she wasn't asking any questions.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

You cleared your throat. "Right I should probably go and shower, you know aet ready for the day."

"Okaaay."

You turned around and hurried to your room, she knew what she was doing. If you spent a moment longer with you she would work her magic and make you spill all of your feelings to her. She was weirdly good at that.

You slammed your door shut and stood with your back pressed to it as you took a deep breath.

Okay.

enjoy yall!

taglist:

@diorgirl444 @starkluvrr @theweasleyskettle @milkteeboba @blakeblue01 @starqwerty20 @iluvfetuszarry @raindropstearsandtea @katsuniverse @middle-of-the-earth @speedunkle @mypeace4 @garfieldsladybird @welnasynchbest @marauders-eras @4rt3m1ss @poetsneil @stained-tea-cup @aki-chan-20 @hawkinsavclub1983 @spxcekru @stars-havefallen @hisparentsgallerryy @st4r-girl-official @po55um @taylorann2013 @potseluymenya @oloorado @poetrypirate @solnare @xxvelvetxxxx @ireneop

-

#harry potter #remus lupin blurb #hp #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x you #remus x reader #remus fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus angst #remus lupin #marauders blurb #marauders oneshot #marauders imagine #hp marauders #the maraunders map #marauders era #marauders #mara

[jo-harrington]

Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 3)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Word Count: 12.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Angst, body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love, mutual pining, fatphobia (if you squint?), Babysitter Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Things That Require Communication (Too Bad There Isn't Any), Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, Masturbation, Fantasies/Wet Dreams, To Quote JQ "There Do Be Willies"

Note: Guys...ok I tried I really did. First off once again thanks to @ghost-proofbaby, @big-ope-vibes and @trashmouth-richie for being my sounding boards for some things in this chapter. And then because they have been SO amazing with their writing and their big-brainedness, this chapter is dedicated to @myosotisa and @blue-mossbird.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Before Eddie could react at all to Steve's appearance, Steve had launched himself off the bed, crossed the room, and pinned Eddie against the wall with an arm across his neck. The pressure was uncomfortable, but not enough to keep him from breathing or talking.

"How did you get in here?" Eddie questioned.

"It's my fucking house, Freak," Steve spat. "I know where the spare key is. Now, what the fuck did you do to me? To us. How the fuck did you do this?"

"Listen pal," Eddie grunted, trying to shove Steve off of him. Eddie wondered, fleetingly as he stared into his own rage-filled eyes, if he was actually that strong, or if it was just because Steve had better control of his strength. "I don't know what you think I could have done, but I was just as surprised as I'm sure you were when I woke up here this morning. In your fucking body."

"That's bullshit. You did this," Steve insisted. "You...did some satanic ritual—"

"Are you stupid? It's all a joke man," Eddie began. "I don't worship Satan, Hellfire's not a cult."

"Fuck you, you and your devil horns and latin chants during lunc—"

"I just played that shit up so my friends don't get beaten up by meathead jocks like you."

Fed up with being pushed around and accused Eddie went slack against the wall for a second, causing Steve's footing to falter, and with that he threw his whole weight against Steve, causing him to tumble back onto the floor. Eddie knelt over him, gritting his teeth, and fisted the front of his shirt.

"You think if I had some kind of say in my life, some kind of power to change it, I would still be stuck in a shithole like Hawkins?" Eddie sneered. "Stuck in that trailer, stuck being a student at Hawkins high for another day?"

"Except you're not stuck anymore," Steve retorted. "I am."

"Y-you think I would want to be stuck like this instead?" Eddie huffed. "King fucking Steve Harrington. Who has it all handed to him. What kind of life is that?"

"You didn't seem too miserable a few seconds ago," Steve pointed out.

Eddie let go of Steve and he dropped slightly, head bouncing slightly off the plush area rug.

Fucking Harrington can't even have hard enough floors to hurt.

Eddie stood to his full height and looked around the bedroom again—at Steve's desk and his lovingly filled-out calendar, at the plush bed, at the window that overlooked a swimming pool for fuck's sake—and wondered how fair it was that Steve could have anything he ever wanted, but never did.

What would you like me to say to that Steve? That you're right? That I would want your life? That you're an idiot and you don't deserve any of this? That I do instead?

"Where were you just now anyway?" Steve continued as he watched Eddie cross over to the window. "Take my car for a joyride or something? While I'm driving around your rusty old shitbox? Or...or—"

"Took your girl out for a date," Eddie interrupted and glanced back at Steve over his shoulder. "Or did you forget about her?"

"My gir—" Steve paused. "Do you mean...You took her out on our date?"

"I went through the motions today," Eddie explained. "Wake up in someone else's body, go to work at their job, take their girlfriend on the date they had planned."

"For someone who seems to have no idea how this happened," Steve grunted as he pushed himself off the floor. "You seem to know how to handle a situation like this pretty perfectly."

"How do you think I should have handled it? Driving around town screaming about spells and magic?"

Steve had the sense to look ashamed for a minute and Eddie smirked.

"What did you do today then, eh 'Eddie?'"

"I...I went to school," Steve started.

"Sounds like going through the motions to me."

"I went to find Henderson!"

"Wait a minute," Eddie turned to face Steve fully. "You told Henderson?"

"Yeah," Steve shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? He's part of your little band of misfits. Figured he might know some...counter spell and get me back in my body."

Eddie groaned and put his face in his hands.

Great, Dustin was going to actually think Eddie was the devil now.

"Did you tell anyone?" Steve asked dumbly.

"No because I'm not an absolute idiot," Eddie exclaimed, throwing his hands out. "Fuck, no wonder Buckley calls you a dingus."

"Well lah-di-dah, I'm sorry I don't have the mystical body switching handbook memorized like you do" Steve snarked and fell onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to hug to his body for comfort. "What would that even look like? A...a...pentagram with 'shut the fuck up' written in the middle in latin or something?"

Eddie froze.

A mystical body switching handbook.

A pentagram.

Or maybe a sigil?

"God, I can't even believe you went on my date for me. Did you even...how did you know I had reservations at the Club? Wait, is that what you wore? Jesus Ch—”

"Shut up!" Eddie interrupted. "Go back, what did you just say?"

"Uh....The Club?" Steve asked. "The...Country Club up in Marion? My dad plays golf there."

"No before that, you said—" Eddie stopped. "Wait, you were gonna take her for dinner at the Golf Club? Kind of a douche move there, Harrington. Even for you."

"Well where did you take her then?"

"Doesn't matter," Eddie dismissed, smugly filing away the fact that his idea for a date was better than Steve's. Country Club. "You said...a pentagram."

"Yeah? What about it?" Steve asked. When Eddie hesitated to answer, Steve grew concerned. "Please don't tell me you drew a pentagram and asked for...I don't know, better hair or something and now we're stuck like this."

Eddie ignored the dig at his hair.

"Not...exactly."

"Oh!" Mrs. Henderson looked surprised when she opened the door to find both "Steve" and "Eddie" on her doorstep. "What a surprise!"

"Hey, Mrs. H," "Steve" greeted with a smile, causing "Eddie" to roll his eyes. "Is Dustin here?"

"He is. With Will and Lucas. Since someone decided to cancel Hellfire Club," she glared at "Eddie" good-naturedly. "I can go get him for you; come on in. Did you boys have dinner? You hungry? I have plenty of leftover tater tot casserole."

"No thank you," they answered in tandem and crossed through into the living room and took a seat on the couch.

As she made her way back towards Dustin's room, the boys started to bicker.

"Why would you cancel Hellfire? I never cancel. Even when I'm sick."

"I’m sorry was this not a pressing matter? Your little club can’t skip one week?”

Mews jumped up and settled in "Eddie's" lap and Steve froze as she began purring.

Mews was never really a fan of Steve's to begin with, the few times Steve had come over to spend time with Dustin and the kids. It was mutual indifference, actually. She mostly stayed cuddled up in Mrs. Henderson's arms, but when she wasn't they gave one another distance. Steve had no interest in getting near the cat, and the cat had no interest in getting near Steve.

So for her to be comfortable and purring in "Eddie's" lap...it made Steve a little nervous. What if she bit him or clawed him or—

"Well, aren't you gonna give her pets Harrington?" Eddie reached over and started scratching between her ears.

"Uh...I'm not an animal person," Steve explained and Eddie gave him a dull look. "What if it scratches me?"

"Are you kidding?" Eddie scoffed. "First, she's literally the cuddliest cat in the world. Second, she's a she, not an it. And third, if she scratches you, technically she'd scratch me and I've already been scratched several times when I fed the baby raccoons at Forest Hills."

"The—Why are you feeding raccoons?" Steve exclaimed. "They're wild animals, they're feral."

"They're babies, they shouldn't be eating trash. Which reminds me, as long as we're stuck like this, you need to leave a can or two of tuna out for the stray cats once in a while."

Steve watched Eddie for a moment, waiting for the laughter to start or a punchline to come out of his mouth. And it never did.

"What is wrong with yo—"

"Eddie! Steve!" the boys jumped at Dustin and his mother's appearance. Dustin had wide eyes and a strained smile. "What a surprise! Eddie, how was detention?"

Eddie turned back to look at Steve with raised eyebrows and a manic grin.

"Detention?" Eddie asked. "When did this happen?"

"I was late to class. You know, like I am every day." Steve answered, taking a cheap dig at Eddie for putting him on the spot.

"Anyway!" Dustin began loudly. "Why don't you guys come on back. And we can discuss that surprise campaign for Mike's birthday."

Eddie picked Mews off Steve's lap and handed her back to Mrs. Henderson with another last little chin scratch, and then he and Steve followed Dustin back to his room where, indeed, Lucas and Will were waiting.

"Alright dweebs, get lost," Steve announced.

"No way, we're not leaving until we figure this whole body switching thing out," Lucas scoffed.

"You told them too?" Eddie turned to Steve and Steve held his hands up defensively.

"No," Dustin interjected. "I did. I needed Will the Wise's brain and Sinclair the Soldier's tenacity if I was gonna solve this."

"What about Wheeler?" Eddie asked.

The boys sheepishly looked at one another.

"Mike's not exactly the best at keeping secrets," Will began hesitantly. "And if Nancy found out...well..."

"And we do actually need to come up with some kind of surprise for his birthday," Lucas continued. "A quest to reverse a curse on two knights sounds pretty epic."

They all looked to Eddie for his input.

"Could be interesting," Eddie hummed and tilted his head back and forth in contemplation. "I might be inclined to give it a DM stamp of approval if we can actually figure this thing out."

The kids all cheered and started talking over one another, saying that they went to the Hawkins Public Library after school since Hellfire was canceled. They gathered several fantasy books and a folklore book, and when they asked about occultism at the reference desk, there was one book that had recently been checked out.

"Funny you should mention that," Steve piped up and pulled the faded red book out from where it was tucked into Eddie's jacket. "Eddie and I nearly tore apart his trailer trying to find it.

And they had.

After Eddie had dropped the news that he, indeed, might have been the cause of this switch—unintentionally—he and Steve headed to Forest Hills to find the book.

Steve honestly felt a little vindicated that it actually was Eddie who had done this to the two of them, but...he admitted that he might have let all of the mania about Eddie and Hellfire Club fuel his anger.

But as he stood off to the side and watched the boys flip through the pages with Eddie as Eddie regaled them with his campaign ideas and the sigil that had caught his eye, Steve couldn't help but feel that bitter vile jealousy begin to bubble up again.

How long ago was it that he was taking them to the junkyard to ride their bikes and find scraps and bits and pieces for them to use for their...LORPing...LARPing...

And it was fun, yeah, watching the little idiots get excited over hunks of discarded pipes they could use as staffs, and bent and dented garbage can lids they could use as shields.

But he had done all of those things in an effort to make Nancy see he was a good guy, and he had lost her. And he had kept doing those things because the kids were actually fun and like the younger siblings he had always wanted...and now they were arguing about the differences between Latin and Ancient Mycenaean with Eddie.

He just couldn't keep up.

So he took the route he always knew would keep him and his feelings safe: he lashed out.

"Alright, so," he put his hands on his hips." What's the verdict, how soon can we switch back? I don't want to be stuck smelling like weed for the rest of my life. Do you even wash your clothes, Munson?"

All four boys—well, 3 boys and one man—stared at Steve with wide, almost hurting eyes. And Steve realized...

Shit.

...he hadn't made fun of someone like that in front of the kids that way in a long time.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't," he sighed and collapsed into Dustin's desk chair. "It's just been a really long day guys. It isn't easy being Eddie."

"Oh?" Eddie scoffed. "You just realizing that now Harrington? After one day of being me? You have it so fucking easy that it takes one day of...what? Being pushed around or called a freak or driving an old van that is not a rusty old shitbox, by the way. One day without your big house and your notes from your mommy and your neatly pressed clothes and your cute girlfriend doting on you?"

"And what do you know about my life?" Steve argued. "You don't know half of the shit that I go through! And you don't even care. You go around without a care in the world. Everyone you think is your friend is either afraid of you or looking for your approval. I heard from Janie Miller that you offered to give her free weed one time if she flashed you her boobs. You don't care who you're hurting or insulting or shitting on unless it's fun for you."

It was a miracle Mrs. Henderson didn't come to see what the ruckus was about because it just went on. Enough that they started talking over one another. One dig after another, one way their lives were seemingly better or seemingly worse.

The kids tried to interrupt them but they just kept going.

And Steve's breathing got heavy and his throat got tight, his eyes stung with unshed tears as he thought about...

The way everyone left him. The way he was actually alone. The way his dad couldn't see how hard he sought his approval. The way his mom only did nice things for him anymore was because he knew her secrets. The way his high school friends only liked him because of his popularity. The way that Nancy Wheeler never actually liked him at all, just liked the way he made her feel. The way that the kids left him behind for the next cool older brother kind of guy that came along. The way he was sure even Robin only half-tolerated him.

And the more that he thought those thoughts, the more...the more Eddie's body felt like his. The more he could feel every hair follicle on his head, the way every breath rattled his chest a little bit, the way his ears rang a little bit constantly from the loud music he always blasted in his van.

It got to be so much that it was scary.

But he and Eddie kept on arguing, until someone had the good sense to stop them.

"SHUT UP!" Will yelled and everything went silent. The two older boys stared at Will and he shrunk a little bit under their gaze. "I, uh, I think I figured out what happened."

"Well?" Steve snarked.

"...well I don't know for sure..." Will replied hesitantly. "I don't take Latin with Lucas and Dustin. B-but this right here. Alterius Oculos. Another's eyes?"

He pointed to the inscription on the page Eddie had shown them, right above the sigil.

“Ok what about ‘another’s eyes?’” Eddie asked.

“You need to…see through another’s eyes maybe.” Lucas offered. “Not literally. Figuratively. Empathize with them? Ms. Kelly told me about that a few weeks ago. Put yourself in someone else’s shoes.”

“Except, it’s actually literal,” Dustin snapped his fingers. “Because you two are actually seeing through one another’s eyes and wearing each other’s shoes.”

“So I drew the sigil, went to bed and we switched bodies to see through each other’s eyes and…understand each other better?” Eddie huffed. “I wasn’t even thinking of Harrington when I drew it!”

“What were you thinking of?” Lucas questioned.

Eddie quietly picked at his fingernails, and Steve looked down at his own hands—at Eddie’s actual hands—and saw the ripped up skin and closely trimmed nails. Eddie was a nail biter.

Eddie Munson was a nail biter and he was nervous and he was…

“I was thinking that…nothing good ever happened to me. That…I needed to have a reality check or something,” Eddie shrugged.

…Eddie was a loser. He didn’t have it all figured out. He struggled with things…beyond Steve’s understanding. Even because of Steve sometimes.

“Hey, uh,” Steve cut in. “It’s not like I did anything to help things last night.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked.

“I, uh, might have charged you extra for your movie rental just to get you out of my hair for a while.”

“I knew it!” Eddie exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Steve. “I knew you were pulling that shit on purpose.”

“Can you fucking blame me, have you ever met yourself?” Steve asked.

“Well, I certainly can say I have now,” Eddie grumbled. “So how do we fix this? How do we switch back?”

The younger boys all shared another nervous look.

“I guess…” Will began. “Do more things to understand each other. Just…do whatever the other would do…live each other’s lives.”

“For how long? Forever?” Steve scoffed.

“Lucas and I can translate the rest of this page,” Dustin offered.

“I’m sorry, Lucas and who?” Lucas asked. “You’re barely passing Latin.”

“Ok Lucas can translate the page while Will and I can do my best to help ‘Eddie’ navigate Hellfire Club.” Dustin held his hands out as though he was weighing his options. “And ‘Steve’ can just…not fuck up real Steve’s life. Or real Eddie’s life for that matter!”

“Can’t fuck up something that’s at Rock Bottom,” Steve grumbled.

“And maybe you two could work on understanding each other in the mean time?” Lucas asked.

Steve and Eddie stared at one another in a way that felt, to Steve at least, like a challenge. They nodded and Steve felt the unspoken “let the best man win” ring through the air.

Otherwise they were both gonna lose.

Eddie threw his head back with laughter.

"Swing and a miss," he called as you swung the putter at the little purple golf ball, over and over, without actually hitting it. "Honey, are you just letting me win? There's no way you can be so bad at this."

"We can't all be professional mini golfers," you laughed at him.

"Excuse me, that is 'mini golf champion,'" Eddie boasted. "They have my face in the Hall of Fame."

"Oh I didn't know I was in the presence of a celebrity," you bowed to him. "Maybe you could take some pity on a poor peasant and help me get this shot please."

"I supposed I could give you some pointers," he sighed dramatically and sidled up behind you. He wrapped his arms comfortably around you and his hands found yours on the putter. When he tried to get your body into position to make the shot, you pressed yourself back against him and rested your head on his shoulder a bit. "Hmmm, what is this funny business, honey? Trying to distract me?"

You wiggled your shoulders and relaxed, leaning your body further into his, emphasizing the softness of you against the hardness of him.

And it was only getting harder by the second.

"Maybe I'm trying to win?" you turned your head to look at him, breath fanning against his jaw.

"Considering I've made par on every hole so far—"

"I'm not talking about golf anymore Eddie," you muttered, shaking your hands out from below his on the putter so you could turn within his embrace and cup his face softly...reverently. "I...you know I've always had a huge crush on you."

"Honey, why do you have to tell me such sweet things?" Eddie asked. "It's our first date, I'm trying to be a gentleman. We're in public."

"And if we weren't in public?" You tilted your face closer to his, lips practically brushing against his. "Would you be a gentleman then?"

"Do you want me to be?" he asked breathlessly.

He dropped the putter and grabbed at your waist as he crushed his mouth to yours. It was a hungry sort of kiss, like he was a man starved. And when the joyous moan that came from you was as sweet as honey, Eddie resolved that you were, indeed, going to give him a sweet tooth.

Eddie's hands slid easily across the smooth surface of your shiny taffeta dress as he pulled you closer, causing it to rustle as it crinkled under his touch. It got harder to think as he savored your softness but he dreamed of what it would be like to be surrounded by all of you. To be consumed, and suffocated, and smothered by you.

He could have it...he could have you...

You pulled away momentarily and stared up into his eyes, yours glassy with want and adoration, something that he only ever hoped you would look at him with.

"Do you wanna answer the phone?" you muttered.

"W-what?"

"Steven are you up?" There was a knock on the bedroom door and Eddie woke with a start. He groggily looked around the room, at the plaid wallpaper and the tidy belongings.

Damn. The thing that he hoped was a dream was real, and the thing he hoped was real was only a dream.

"There's someone calling for you. Did you wanna answer?" Mrs. Harrington said through the door.

"Y-yeah, uh," Eddie called out and cleared his throat. "M-mom." The word was unfamiliar on his tongue, in his brain. Like a language that hadn't been practiced in quite some time.

He hoped, at the very least, Steve didn't call her "mommy."

He had been well on his way to an early-riser if he hadn't been woken up, but nothing was a bigger boner-killer than thinking of Mrs. Harrington as "mommy."

"Alright, come downstairs when you're ready; I'm making breakfast too. Your favorite."

Eddie pushed himself out of Steve's bed for the fifth day in a row. Threw on some of Steve's clothes for the fifth day in a row.

After the discussion with the kids on Friday night, he and Steve had agreed to go through the motions, make the best of living one-another's lives and actually put in the effort. Eddie told him about the things he did to make things easier around the trailer since Wayne worked nights--the laundry, grocery shopping, bringing home a little extra money by dealing—and Steve told Eddie the things he did—driving Robin to school, working at Family Video, his "health routines."

Although, Eddie would hesitate to call shaving his chest and styling his hair something someone did for their health.

He was also hesitant to maintain Steve's morning run, considering the fact that he hated running, but found that it was easier in Steve's athletic body than in his garbage bag one—Steve's words, not his.

They also set one non-negotiable thing each, that the other must do no matter what.

For Eddie, that was Corroded Coffin and their Tuesday gigs, like the one they had that night.

He had spent the weekend coming up with a plan for them to still play, even with Steve in his body and fully unable to play the guitar. Steve had even offered to learn some easy guitar riffs or chords, but Eddie had standards to keep. It would be his luck that on the night Steve was in his body putzing around that some....record label exec would walk into the Hideout. He wasn't gonna let that fly.

So they figured out that "Steve" would be spending some time with "Eddie" at Dustin's request so they could "reconcile their differences." And in an effort to learn more about "Eddie," he would go to Corroded Coffin's shows.

Since the "stage lights" were so bright and blinding anyway, no one would know that he slipped into the supply closet where his Fender would be plugged into the equipment, while Steve faked playing an unfortunately dead Sweetheart on stage. There was more to the performance than just focusing on the music...so he'd just have to hope that none of the guys gave Steve any cues that he couldn't see.

The singing was an easy fix. Jeff was working on his confidence; Eddie would just let him be the frontman tonight. No need to worry about Steve knowing any of the songs, let alone their lyrics.

He was an optimist when it came to music though. This would work.

For Steve, it was that Eddie did not talk to his parents outside of any quick, cordial conversations. And Eddie wasn't one to pry—he had his fair share of parental issues—it just seemed weird that the mention of Ma and Pa Harrington would cause Golden Boy Stevie to choke up the way he did.

Thankfully for Eddie, the Harrington's had vibrant social lives. Thomas Harrington worked late at the car dealership and then went out for dinner and drinks with his salesmen most nights Monday through Saturday. And on Sunday he got his clubs out of the hall closet and went to the Country Club to play with his other businessman friends for most of the day. Mary Harrington was just...unexplainably gone from the house for most of the day, most days. Eddie couldn't even explain when she was home to do all of the things she seemed to do around the house.

"Steve" had the day off of work yesterday so he was home for most of the day, and short of the few hours he had left the house to take you out on another date, Mary hadn't been home at all. Miraculously, when he returned at the end of the night, his hamper was empty, his bed had been made, his new schedule was written in his calendar, and his lunch was ready in the fridge for the following day.

Eddie wondered why everyone thought he was capable of dark magic when, clearly, Mary Harrington was the town's resident witch.

This morning was the first one that he had even heard her voice, let alone be the first time he would see her as he resided in Steve’s body.

Eddie crept down the stairs and into the hall, peering around to see if Mrs. Harrington was anywhere nearby then approached the little hall table where the phone was sitting off the hook.

"Good morning, this is Steve Harrington," he greeted as he pressed the receiver to his ear. "Fine purveyor of rental videos, microwave popcorn, and movie theater candy. How can I help you?" There was giggling on the other end of the line and he grinned.

"Please don't tell me that's how you answer the phone at Family Video?" you said, instead of a "hello."

"I will now," he promised.

"No!"

"You'll just have to call more often and stop people from actually having to hear it." His smile grew at your skeptical uh huh and he continued. "What's going on this morning, honey. I thought you had class."

He could envision you leaning against a payphone, twirling a finger through a lock of your hair.

"I have a few minutes," you explained. "But I just wanted to call and say I had a really good time last night."

He had taken you to the drive in to see a double feature—House on Haunted Hill and The Bat; Eddie knew you loved Vincent Price but "Steve" just had incredibly luck—but most of the night was spent talking and holding hands and at the end of the night, he got to kiss you again.

Eddie felt triumphant once again, knowing deep down that you would like the dates he had planned over anything Steve could have come up with.

Part of the discussion with Steve about how to go about each other's lives also included you. Eddie had hesitated and asked how Steve felt that someone else was dating his girlfriend and Steve had just shrugged.

"She's a good one, I don't wanna let her get away," Steve shrugged. "You'll just have to keep her warm for me."

"Is that really the best way to build a relationship?" Eddie asked. "Lies? Tricks?"

"She doesn't have to know you're not me," Steve explained. "Just...take it easy, don't do any of the good stuff until we switch back. You wanna know some of my favorite dating spots?"

So Eddie decided...if he happened to be stuck in Steve's body forever he could have you. And if he ever made it back to his body...well...Steve wasn't exactly as smooth as people thought he was. If he couldn't keep up the loverboy act Eddie had started, you would get fed up and dump him.

And Eddie would be right there to pick up the pieces.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie laughed. "Well I'm glad. I did too. What was your favorite part?"

"Uhhh...oh! That part when you—"

The two of you chatted for a few minutes, talking and laughing easily, before you told him you had to get to class. He needed to get going too, so he could drive Robin to school.

His chest ached a little when he hung up the phone.

"It's good to see you smiling, Stevie," came a voice from over his shoulder. He jumped, seeing Mary leaning against the threshold to the living room.

"Uh, good morning," Eddie greets her.

"Were you hungry? Figured we could have a little chat over breakfast," she smiled an obviously strained smile.

Shit, how did she know? What did she know?

"I actually have to get going," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder then put his hands in his pockets. "Take Robin to school...get to work, open the shop."

"Let me get your lunch then!" Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she dashed away. Eddie wondered if he could make an escape before she came back, but before long she was pressing the brown paper bag into his hand. "I put your allowance in there too. Remember Dad can't find out about it, Steve. Please...dad can't find out. Please."

"Oh...kay," Eddie frowned. Was that the reason Steve didn't want Eddie talking to his parents? Because his dad cut him off but his mom was giving him money instead? Well, Eddie could keep a secret, and enjoy the benefits of some extra pocket money. "Sure. Mom. Whatever you say. I've gotta go."

"You have plans tonight?" she asked. "I can leave dinner for you."

"Nah, I'll probably be home late," Eddie explained. "Going out with friends."

Mary's face fell into a neutral expression, then she rolled her eyes and sighed. It was night and day from how it was just moments before, and it was incredibly uncomfortable for Eddie.

"You can't do this forever Steven," she shook her head. "Keep me at arms length. I'm your mother. I'm trying."

"I don't...I'm sorry mom. I've gotta go."

Eddie scooped Steve's keys out of the little dish on the table and headed towards the front door.

"I'm trying, Steven," Mary called after him cryptically. "You can't be mad at me forever."

Tuesdays were your favorite day of the week.

Well they weren't...your favorite; did anyone even have a favorite day of the week?

To be completely honest, they were actually kind of nasty.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were the days you had the heaviest course load at the Community College. Your first class started at 7am—you thought they would be easy thanks to your early starts in high school, but you thought wrong—and aside from a brief, squeezed-in lunch break at 11:45, you had classes straight until 3. Tuesdays also meant Bingo at the Rec center and an early dinner rush of senior citizens at Benny's that started right at the beginning of your shift. So no breaks again until closer to 6? Or 7? Or later if the actual dinner rush ran long.

And Benny was a nice guy, right? He always let you take an extra 5 minutes when he made his rounds about the restaurant to greet the regulars.

But Lynn? The curmudgeonly opening waitress who had been around Benny's before it was even Benny's?! Who had been doing this for longer than you'd been alive? Lynn spent the tiny bit of overlap in your shifts criticizing everything you did.

Every. Little. Thing.

Usually you could ignore her, but on Tuesdays when you were just one...big mass of irritation, it took everything in you not to flip her the bird as she left. Just one big "fuck you, you miserable old bitch" to her back as she retreated to her clunky, old Mercury Monterey.

As soon as her tail lights were out of sight from the diner windows and she was a little too far to turn back and chastise you about something she forgot to earlier—she had done that enough for it to always be a valid fear—you got to breathe.

You suddenly gained a sense of serenity and joy.

Because Tuesday wasn't your favorite day. Tuesday nights were your favorite nights.

Corroded Coffin came in on Tuesdays. Eddie came in on Tuesdays.

You told yourself going into the day...well, now that you were dating Steve...it was going to be different. It had to be different. The date on Friday really felt like Steve had turned a new leaf; he was moving on from Nancy and was actually gonna give this thing with you a chance.

And your date with him the night before? It had been so perfect; you hadn't even thought about Eddie once. Well...actually...

That fleeting thought you had about Eddie on Friday night, wondering how he might kiss you, left a pit in your stomach. And it had returned with a vengeance after Steve had kissed you last night too. Enough so that it practically kept you up all night from guilt and made you call him this morning to tell him...

I really had a good time with you last night but when you kissed me I thought of someone else.

...to tell him what a great time you had, and that you were excited to see him again.

And it wasn't a lie. You were excited to see him. Excited for this change in him. Excited for the attention and affection he freely gave you during these last two dates that he, generally, hadn't given you during the first two.

You owed it to Steve, and to yourself, to give it a chance. And in order for it to be a fair chance, you had to make a clear distinction in your mind that...well...Steve was...your boyfriend now, and Eddie? Eddie was unfortunately just a friend.

A friend you wanted to kiss.

God this was gonna be difficult.

You could still be nice to him, still look forward to Tuesday nights when he and the guys would come in. They were fun nights filled with music and silly arguments and a textbook example of "boys will be boys."

You simply had to remember that all of those little extra things you did—make sure his favorite booth was free, ask Benny for pickles on his patty melt that he always forgot to ask for, or give him extra whipped cream on his slice of pie—weren't because you wanted Eddie to like you. Or notice you. Or maybe ask you out one day.

It was because you were his friend.

You had even come up with some foolproof plan to get the butterflies to stop flapping in your stomach when you did all of those little things for Eddie. Because you certainly couldn't stop doing them; that would be suspicious. Instead, every time your heart would beat a little harder for Eddie, you would just...think of Steve. His smile and his laugh and his kiss...

It would be so easy.

And certainly much easier tonight of all nights, as Steve walked into Benny's with Corroded Coffin, laughing along to some joke Jeff told before they had opened the door.

It would be so easy.

"Hey guys," you greeted nervously and turned to Steve. "What are you doing here?"

“What a lovely greeting Honey,” Steve chuckled and quickly glanced around before he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment as Eddie and the boys watched the interaction, Dave and Gareth giving Eddie pointed looks, which he ignored.

How strange.

“Steve, please,” you laughed nervously. “I’m at work.”

“Well the boss isn’t around,” Steve pointed out.

“Uh…w-well I have your usual booth ready guys,” you greeted Eddie and his friends.

"Harrington's joining us tonight," Eddie pointed out. "Can we get a table or instead?"

"I can just pull an extra chair up to the booth," you offered, knowing Eddie really liked the view out of the window.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "That booth does sound nice, Eddie. I don't mind a chair."

"No, we'll get a table," Eddie waved a hand dismissively. "Everyone good with that?" The rest of the guys agreed and Steve huffed an agreement beside you.

"Ok, uh," you stammered. "Wherever you guys wanna sit then, I'm the only one here tonight. And Ben. As usual."

It wasn't...terrible or anything, them wanting a table, it just threw off your cadence. If they had sat in the booth, you already had menus, waters, and silverware set out. Now you had to move everything across the restaurant because Eddie had beelined for a round table in the corner.

It was fine.

Steve hung back for a second and pulled you to the side.

"Hey, uh, is it ok that I'm here?" he asked. "You look a little flustered."

"Yeah, no I'm ok," you gave him a small smile. "Just wasn't expecting you. And I've had a bit of a long day. Kind of overdue for my last break too."

"You should ask Benny if you can take your break," Steve offered. "We'll be fine. The guys are hungry but they'll have to wait regardless."

"The...guys..." you narrowed your eyes at Steve. It felt too familiar coming from his mouth. "What are you doing here with them Steve?"

There was a beat as Steve's eyes got a little bigger and he looked down at his feet for a second before he cleared his throat.

"Listen Honey, I took what you said the other day to heart," Steve started quietly, inching a little closer to you. "About Eddie being your friend. I figured...he had something going on with him, I shouldn't have been so quick to judge. So I went to check up on him and...I don't know, turns out the guy isn't half bad when you get to know him."

"Really?" you asked blankly. You had no reason not to trust him but...going from calling someone a dangerous freak who should be in jail to hanging out with him and his friends in just a few days...seemed drastic.

But when you stared into his hazel eyes, there wasn't a hint of deceit in them.

"Sure," he shrugged a little. "I even went and watched his band play tonight."

"You did?" You were sure the craziest music Steve was into was Van Halen, if that. All of the tapes in his car were…rocky and poppy and nothing outside of the Top 40 charts.

"They're pretty good," he grinned. "Very good actually. They did Flight of Icarus and Mr. Crowley."

"You...listen to metal?" you asked with a frown.

"Uh," Steve shrugged again. "There's some good songs. And Ozzy. Who doesn't know Ozzy?"

"You gonna sit there and chit chat all night Harrington?" Eddie called from the table and the rest of the guys all chuckled. Steve's eyes hardened for a second but he gave you a gentle smile before he went to join them.

You didn't always go outside during your breaks; more often than not, you would sit in the kitchen, do some homework, and chat with Benny as he manned the grill. You'd think a middle-aged man and a 19-year old would have nothing in common, but Benny was honestly like an aloof father figure. He just stood there as you talked or complained about this or that, offered advice or lame jokes. It was perfect.

But tonight was just...confusing.

You tried to make the best of it, you really did. You brought the guys everything they needed, you smiled shyly when Steve reached over and held your hand as he ordered...

He even asked for a little kiss and you reluctantly gave him a peck on the cheek.

But it was Eddie.

He was being a real douchebag. Not to everyone else; just to you.

You had gotten their table set up and then went to check on the other customers and get their drink orders. But when you came back, he didn't even want his Dr. Pepper. He said water was fine.

When you asked everyone if they wanted their usuals—Patty Melts all around. No onions for Dave, extra sauce for Gareth, on a bun instead of rye for Jeff, and add pickles for Eddie—Eddie changed his mind and ordered a bacon cheeseburger instead. Ok, no big deal. It wasn't the first time he'd changed it up.

But then he had just been...picky.

The fries were overdone, the bacon wasn't crispy, it wasn't medium well.

You had brought his food back to the kitchen 3 times, and Benny even offered to kill Eddie for you to get you to laugh.

"He's a good kid but maybe it's his time of the month or something," Benny shrugged, urging you to let things slide. "Got bitten by a werewolf. Or turned into a vampire or something. I could even put some garlic powder on the fries, see if it does him in."

He then told you to go take your break, that he would take the burger back out and make sure none of the guys were having any problems with their food.

"Or else," he raised his spatula as though it was a deadly weapon.

Who knows, Benny kept things to himself, maybe he could kill someone with a spatula...

You were leaning against the grey stucco on the side of the building, enjoying the slight breeze, when there was a crunch of gravel off to the side. You turned your head to see Steve standing there with a small smile and his hands in his pockets.

"You doing ok, honey?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a long day like I said," you explained.

"How was class?"

"Stupid. How was work?"

"Stupid." He grinned wider. "I, uh, was really looking forward to seeing you tonight though."

You pursed your lips to stop the smile from making it onto your face.

"You really wanted to see me in my stupid uniform?" you asked, holding your hands out to emphasize the shapeless blue dress. "I look like Hazel."

"Did I ever tell you that I had the biggest crush on Shirley Booth when I was a kid?" You broke out in laughter. "What? What's so funny? Hazel might just be my type, did you ever think of that?"

"You are..." you started, but paused and shook your head dismissively as he got closer to you.

"I'm?" he questioned, leaning over to take one of your hands in his. He pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"You're not...what I expected Steve Harrington to be like," you muttered. His eyes went wide for a second as they darted back and forth between yours. "You're so much better."

"Of course I'm better, it's because I'm..." He faltered for a moment. "It's because I'm crazy about you, honey."

Your heart dropped into your stomach...

Steve was...crazy about you?

"You just make me wanna dance," he chuckled and took a step back, pulling you with him. He lifted your arm and made to twirl you around, and you laughed as you tripped on the gravel drive. He urged you to try again and you managed to twirl this time, apron flaring.

Round and around until you got a little dizzy and he pulled you to his chest.

"Hi Honey," he whispered as he rocked you back and forth to some unheard tune.

"Hi," you giggled breathlessly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't always have to ask."

"But can?"

"Always."

Then his lips pressed to yours and you closed your eyes and you were surrounded by him again. Noses brushing, his lips softly pecking at yours, his hands tugging you closer as you reached up to hold his face in yours.

He pulled away briefly to drop little kisses on the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. Your eyes opened and you watched your own fingers thread through his hair, seemingly leading him further along to your neck, but instead it was just an unwitting follower because the choice to suck a bruising kiss at your pulse point was anything but yours.

You grasped at him tighter as something between a whimper and a moan exited you, and he chuckled in a husky, smokey way before laving his tongue over the abused spot.

You closed your eyes again, luxuriating in the moment and all things Steve Harrington...then it hit you.

All of the other senses got to you first—touch and taste, and sound and sight—and now it was smell. And it wasn't what you had initially associated with Steve, that bright, citrus scent.

It was musky and sweaty and spicy and a little bit sweet. There was a heavy undertone of tobacco beneath it all.

Eddie.

"Hey kid, break time's over!" Benny hollered into the night and you pushed yourself away from Steve, stumbling over the gravel drive once again. His hands reached out for you, to pull you back or to steady you, you couldn't be sure.

You regained your footing and batted his hands away to quickly fix your rumpled uniform and wipe at your lips with the back of your hand.

"You good Honey?" Steve chuckled. "You need a minute?"

"Uhh, yeah, I'll be in there in just a second," you waved him back inside. He gave you a wink and a smug smile before he turned and headed back to the door.

Your posture went slack for a second as you tried to control your heart rate and your thoughts. And where your head should have been consumed with thoughts of Steve, instead they were filled with—

"Nope! No. No more!" You stomped your feet and gave your face a few light slaps. "No more. Bad."

You took a few deep breaths, regained your composed service persona, and headed back in.

You spotted the guys table had been cleared, so you got ready for the best part of the night.

Benny was a realist who knew how to do burgers, fries, and shakes, and outside of that, didn't push the ticket. Which meant all of the desserts came from the local bakery every afternoon. They even came pre-sliced.

The whipped cream however? Benny was a connoisseur. He boasted to everyone that had the patience to hear about it that it wasn't cool whip, it wasn't from a squeeze can. If there was whipped cream on a shake or a dessert it was fresh.

"Nothing good in life comes without a little effort," he said the first time he handed you the hand-crank-egg beater-turned-cream-whipper that was, most assuredly, older than you.

So you spent the next few minutes plating everyone's desserts, whipping the cream, and getting it all looking perfect. It might have been the end of their meal, but it was the highlight of your night.

You would take a win where you could. Because everything else felt...

"Alright guys, time for dessert?" you asked, bringing the tray to their table.

You went clockwise starting with Eddie at the head of the table.

Cherry pie for Eddie, Apple for Gareth and Dave, Cheesecake for Jeff.

"And I didn't know what you'd like Steve," you told him with a sad smile. "But just let me know what sounds good and I can go grab it for you."

You were about to start putting dollops of whipped cream on everyone's dessert when Eddie pushed his plate further out from him.

"I didn't ask for Cherry," he said with a sniff.

Everything went quiet.

"Uh," Dave looked at the other guys at the table. "Cherry is your favorite man."

"I don't know, I'm not in a cherry pie mood," Eddie dismissed. He looked up at you "Can I get cheesecake instead? No whipped cream."

"S-sure," you smiled.

You were about to grab the cherry pie from the table to bring it back when Steve reached out and pulled it towards him.

"I'll just take this one," he reasoned. "Cherry actually is my favorite, and I am definitely in a cherry pie mood."

Eddie laughed.

"Whatever you say Harrington," he teased with a roll of his eyes. "Guess you have to get an extra long run in tomorrow if you're indulging so much. Mr. Star Athlete over here."

The

"I'm not gonna say no to cherry pie," Steve shrugged then looked at you. "Can I get extra cream on mine honey?"

He winked at you and you felt your face heating up, but you kept your mouth shut. You went around piping the whipped cream on everyone else's desserts, then ran back to the kitchen to get Eddie's.

As soon as the door swung shut behind you, you started to feel sick.

Something was wrong...

It was just off, you'd been feeling it all night. But you couldn't put a finger on it until now.

It was Eddie...

He was still his funny self...for the most part. But just like the other day at Family Video, he just seemed to be operating on a different frequency. And you wondered for a second if maybe it was you...or maybe it was Steve...maybe the fact that Steve was here and he wasn't...being very discreet with his affections. Neither were you, if you were being honest.

Was he...angry? Jealous?

He was the one to invite Steve out in the first place, so it seemed. Something just didn't make sense...

Steve had to admit that he was having fun.

It had barely been a few days of being Eddie Munson, but it was great. He spent most of the weekend with the kids learning the basics of DnD and putting together some things for a campaign.

He still didn't really get the whole game part, actually. But spending time with the kids? He wouldn't say no.

Having to go to school again wasn't...the greatest. Especially when all of the teachers seemed to have it out for Eddie. Steve just...started paying a little more attention, stopped being a general menace during class. He dug deep to remember some of the coursework from last year...and vaguely wondered how much Eddie didn't pay attention in class in the first place. Steve was not a model student and he could still remember this stuff, so he figured Eddie should be getting an A+ in all of his classes he was repeating now for a second time.

He was sorely mistaken.

Eddie's friends were also...pretty nice too, he had to admit. He had never really given the Hellfire Club the time of day when he was still at Hawkins High, aside from the obvious, but they were actually pretty nice guys.

The music though? It had been the highlight of his week so far.

Steve hadn't ever really understood what the big whoop the theater kids got performing but it was an adrenaline rush, something he hadn't felt for months since he was no longer a star athlete. He hadn't even been playing the guitar but the high of being on that raised platform, having the lights in his eyes, having his heart beat in time with the drum. He hammed it up a bit on the stage once he felt confident enough, like he had seen in one concert or another.

It wasn't the kind of music he liked, really, but he could get used to it if only to chase that rush.

And Steve had felt like a king again when Jeff had clapped him on the shoulder at the end of the set and excitedly gushed on that being the first time he had ever fully landed some solo or another.

Except..."Eddie" hadn't nailed the solo. Eddie had.

And as infectious as the celebration was, it made him feel a little guilty that Eddie couldn't even properly celebrate what must have been an exciting moment. Instead he just sauntered out from the little alcove they had set up and watched Steve take the credit for his accomplishments.

Steve went through the motions, just like they had agreed on, for the rest of the night.

They went to Benny's with "Steve" in tow at "Eddie's" insistence—he couldn't be left alone with Eddie's friends, he just knew he would fuck something up and give it all away—and had their late night bites.

And you were there, laughing and chatting and doting on all of the guys, especially "Steve." Even though it sucked watching you kiss his cheek, knowing it was really Eddie inside…it was nice to know that he had something to look forward to once he got back into his own body.

Something real. Something he thought he had with Nancy.

Now that the remnants of dessert were pretty much over and the guys were just shooting the shit until Benny kicked them out, Steve wandered across the restaurant to the old jukebox to pick out some music.

He briefly wondered what the response would be if “Eddie” picked something like Billy Joel. He couldn't give less of a shit though. "Eddie" might not like it but Steve was a little tired of metal after hearing it all night, after all.

"Hey Eddie?" your voice came from behind him and he turned to face you.

"Yeah, hey...uh...sweetheart," he gave you an easy smile. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were doing ok," you explained. “You seem…I dunno, kinda off tonight.”

“What?” Steve faltered. He seemed off? How? If you could tell…could the others?

”Yeah you didn’t…want your regular order, you didn’t want pie,” you shrugged. “Didn’t even want whipped cream on your cheesecake.”

Shit.

How was it that he could flawlessly fake his way through a guitar solo, but not this?

"I...uh...," he started hesitantly, wracking his brain for an excuse. He dug deep, deeper than he thought was possible, and he came up with...

Dinner with his parents. His father pushing away a plateful of food. His mother looking tired and bored.

"Sometimes people's tastes change," he finished.

It was a painful answer for him to give...but he didn't think you and Eddie were close enough for your expression to crumple the way it did. It probably wasn't the kind of answer Eddie would give to a friend—he had seen how protective he had been over them even before this whole fiasco—but if it meant getting you off his back, he would easily do something that would push you away.

"You know I've been worried about you," you stared. "The other day, outside of Family Video. It was so incredibly scary. And if you're having a tough time..."

"Uh, yeah," Steve folded his arms across his chest awkwardly. "Sorry about that. It was just...just a bad high. I'm ok now. No need to worry."

"Ok," you nodded hesitantly. Steve thought you would just turn on your heel and walk away.

But you didn't.

“Listen I know we’re not…super close or anything,” you hesitated. Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded for you to continue. “I just…I want you to know you aren’t alone.”

“Thanks, uh, I appreciate that,” he nodded and smiled tightly.

"And if there is something going on, you can trust me."

"Of course."

"You know," you paused and looked down at your hands. It was several beats of you taking deep breaths and looking down at your hands, and Steve wondered if you were waiting for some kind of response...or thinking the right words to say next. You glanced up and frowned. "I had a-a c-crush on you in high school."

His heart dropped in his chest and suddenly it felt like Nancy all over again. Telling him that she didn't love him, telling him that it was over, that their relationship was fake, that she didn't even know she was ready to be in a relationship. Only to show up with Jonathan Byers to the Sadie Hawkins dance a few weeks later.

Steve thought everything was working out so well with you. He watched you...kiss his cheek.

Were you planning on breaking up with him?

He wanted to lash out, like a wild animal, tell you all of the things he wishes he could have said to Nancy.

Except...

Except he wasn't Steve Harrington at that moment, he was Eddie Munson.

And you weren't confessing your feelings in a way like someone with a crush would. You didn't look happy or excited. You didn't even really look like your usual sweet and kind self. You looked conflicted.

Because, he realized, he did watch you kiss his cheek. He, Steve, watched you kiss "Steve's" cheek.

If you weren't here to tell "Eddie" that you were breaking up with "Steve" to be with him, then what were you doing?

"I-I mean, we both did," you backtracked with a little laugh and Steve frowned. "Me and Terry. You remember Terry right? I mean, of course you do."

Steve didn't know who Terry was, but "Eddie" would.

"Of course I do."

""Right," you smiled. "Anyway, we both had a crush on you. And there was this time...I don't know, you don't want to hear about this."

"You're dating Steve now," he pointed out. "Why are you telling me this? Why are you telling me that you—"

"I guess," you interrupted him but hesitated again. "You seemed pretty lonely last year, all the times we talked. Even if they weren't...talks? Just small talk. But...after Mickey left for college and you stayed behind—"

That's right, Mickey Caldwell...and his sister Terry...

"--well you have the band and all...but...no one even wanted to be your partner in class but me. And now...you have to do it again and I'm sure it's even harder now."

Steve was catching on.

You weren't there to tell "Eddie" that you were breaking up with "Steve" to be with him. You were just being a good friend. Because even though Eddie had his group of misfit friends...

He was lonely.

Steve knew the feeling. Aside from Robin and the kids...he really didn't have anyone around either. He had just been thinking about how nice it was to spend time with Eddie and his friends after all.

Steve had been jealous that Eddie was spending all of this time with the kids...taking them away from Steve, when he was just as lonely as Steve was...if not more so.

It gave him an idea...

"So," you broke Steve from his thoughts. "If you ever...want to talk. I'm here for you. You have me, always, if ever you want."

You smiled then. Bright and hopeful.

"Well, thanks, sweetheart," he nodded and placed a hand on your shoulder. "I appreciate it...really...it's very nice of you. You're a really good friend."

He didn't see—didn't notice—how your smile fell as he walked past you to get back to the table with the rest of the guys.

Eddie walked into the familiar darkness of the Harrington house, a good exhaustion settling in his bones as he trudged up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

He went through the motions of getting ready for bed. with a peaceful smile on his face. It had been a good day, the likes of which he really hadn’t felt in a long time. If ever. 

The show at the Hideout then dinner at Benny’s. Dancing with you, kissing you, and holding you in his arms.

He could see your smile in his mind’s eye clear as day.

He didn’t want to delude himself into thinking it was love or…or happiness…it was just joy. Plain and simple. And it brought him so much comfort, knowing he could be the one to provide that for you.

Once he was in bed though, and he replayed specific moments over again, that comfort soon faded.

He tried to sleep, he really did.

But every thought he had, he thought of you. Looking perfect in your little uniform. Your laugh as you spoke to everyone, the special attention you gave him. You looked at him the way he always wanted you to.

You moaned the way he could only ever have imagined when he kissed your neck. It was filthy and still ringing in his ears hours later.

He’d wanted to touch you, just like he did in his dream that morning and it was even nicer than he had imagined.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he was in his own body. If it was him, Eddie Munson, that you were looking at and feeling things for and moaning for.

It was with all of that and at the reminder of the dream that he had been so rudely pulled from that morning, that Eddie started getting hot under the collar. 

It wasn’t about sex, really; it was intimacy. And that’s what he wanted more than anything. The closeness with you. To know you. To be with you.

He closed his eyes and imagined your smile directed at him again, the way you put your hand on his shoulder when you asked if everyone was alright, and then fixed his hair a little bit when you went to leave. 

His hair…he’d always been sensitive about it and even in this other body…in his own body…giving it a tug always helped get his motor running.

Eddie reached up and gave Steve’s hair an experimental tug, the short few days not nearly enough for him to be used to the difference in length and texture. It felt crunchy from all the product he had put in and it immediately felt uncomfortable on his fingers.

No touching the hair, noted.

He vaguely wondered, were his nerves on fire because this body was sensitive and aroused and receptive to your attention. Or was it because he, Eddie Munson, resided inside.

Only one way to find out.

He palmed himself over the comforter, then over his sweats, but it wasn’t enough. 

Eddie didn’t hesitate to strip himself of his sweats and the suffocating briefs, and he propped the pillows behind him in a more comfortable way so he could…well so he could watch if he wanted to.

Right now he just wanted to imagine. To feel.

The thought of touching himself had vaguely crossed his mind the other day, after he’d jumped into a cold shower shortly after he’d woken up with morning wood. He wondered if that was crossing a line though. Steve’s dick…was just a dick. Just like his dick was a dick. The same but different. And he’d seen different ones before and yeah some were weird or different sized…did it matter?

If Eddie thought about it from a mechanical sense…a car was a car, no matter who the owner was, or how cautious or rough the driver was…and even two cars of the same make and model could have their very unique quirks…

As long as everything worked and you got from Point A to Point B right?

So he closed his eyes and imagined.

You were there, of course, back outside of Benny’s. He was making you laugh and twirling you around, just like he had earlier that night. Watching your little uniform skirt balloon out just the slightest bit. It wasn’t ruffly or anything, just a standard waitress uniform with a straight skirt.

It didn’t take much touching to get him fully hard; he’d spent enough time exploring to know what he liked so he just let the feelings guide him in this new body.

He licked his palm several times then spit in his hand before he held the shaft loosely. He gave it a few loose strokes before he tightened his grip a little and twisted, hissing at the sweet friction. 

But this was his fantasy, so your uniform could be anything. Flowier, shorter, enough to see the frilly lace edge of your panties when he twirled you and the skirt flared.

“Didn’t know you were trying to turn this sweet moment into a peep show,” you giggled at him and swatted at his chest as he pulled you into his chest to rock together with him.

“I dunno honey,” he sighed. “I think I would be seeing more than just some lace if this was a peep show.”

“Well, what did you have in mind, big boy?”

The hand that had been resting near his head immediately went down to cup and squeeze his balls, and his throat got tighter as he held in a strangled moan. He wasn’t…too sure if he liked it all that much…but he was positive that he didn’t dislike it. He could make himself grow to like it if he needed to.

He stilled the stroking to run his fingers over the head; a favorite little move of his where he pivoted his wrist, letting the joints in his fingers run over the tip and around the head of his cock, hitting all of his sensitive spots in varying intervals. It wasn’t the same, his fingers weren’t as long now, as he noted while he was playing the guitar earlier. 

Regardless, pleasure still surged through him, so it got the job done.

“No peeking,” you whispered against his lips and you covered his eyes with his hands. He’d asked for your panties and you’d agreed without hesitation. If this wasn’t a dream, he would never have been that lucky. He chuckled as your hands pulled away from his and it took everything in him not to look through his fingers at the sound of the rustling of your uniform. 

Suddenly your hands were on the waist of his jeans, working the button open and the zipper downwards.

“Honey, what are you doing?” he teased. “You being naughty?” He just about pulled his hands away from his eyes and you snatched your hands away from him.

“Nooo,” you sing-songed. “No looking yet, I’ll tell you when.”

The ache for him to chase his release was different than he was used to. The best way to describe what he usually felt was…dulcet…smooth…it danced along his nerve endings and made him want more. Drove him to do more, to explore more. A siren’s song to tug and twist and tease until he was floating. But now it was almost…primordial. It leached into his skin and deep into his bones; a hefty, cloying need that would grip his entire being whole and drag him into the depths of the earth itself if it could.

It was a delicious contrast, the difference between the softness of your hand wrapped around him and the slight drag from your panties as you used them to help get him off.

You spit on his tip and let it mingle with his precum, let it slide over the sensitive skin.

Eddie spit in his hand again, trying to achieve that feeling that his imagination conjured up but was just outside of the corporeal.

“Do you like it?” you asked and he could hear the feral grin in your voice.

“I like it,” he moaned. 

“Do you like me?”

“I love you,” he said breathlessly. “Fuck, I would love you so if you just let me.”

He was close, it was euphoric. His nerves exploding, synapses firing as he twisted his hand around the head just so, squeezed his balls again, and then the base of his cock.

“Ok you can look now.”

And he did, directly into those mischievous, knowing eyes of yours as you looked right back at him.

“Cum for me Steve.”

And…he couldn’t…he couldn’t…

Eddie opened his eyes and stared around the room–a room that wasn’t his–looked down at the hands that weren’t his, touching the cock that wasn’t his. 

Because as much as Eddie could simply…compartmentalize and rationalize for however long he had been in his little fantasy…

It was Steve, it was all Steve. All you wanted right now was Steve Harrington and not Eddie Munson. You probably would never want Eddie.

And maybe one day–if he was still cursed to live like this, if he was stuck in this body until the end of his life–he could live with the fact that you wanted Steve.

But as his pleasure evaded him and all of the sad thoughts returned, he simply couldn’t escape the simple fact that his honey didn’t want him…she wanted someone else.

The guys had left shortly after your...interaction with Eddie.

Your confession.

The sweet kiss Steve had given you before they had left was...wonderful. But it was like the glue holding together the broken vase on that one episode of the Brady Bunch.

The feelings were building, the pressure too much, and before long...you sprung a leak and the reality of what you had done hit you. It had you shaking. Benny must have known something was wrong; he had asked you all through your closing tasks if you were alright.

"You good kid?" He asked. "Cuz I can finish up if you wanna get home. I know today's your busy day."

Truth be told, he always asked you that, but the extra edge of concern to his voice was a dead giveaway that you weren't doing a good job of holding it together.

“Nah Ben,” you smiled meekly. “I’m ok. Tired. But I’ll make it. Thanks.”

You started hyperventilating by the time you got into your car.

“Stupid, you’re so stupid,” you muttered to yourself. “How could you tell him?”

You weren’t even sure what possessed you to say anything, what compelled you to stop and say those dumb words.

You know, I had a crush on you.

What did you expect him to say...confess that he had a crush on you too?

Declare his undying love for you?

Instead he just called you a friend.

By the time you reached the 5th street intersection, you rationalized that, at the very least, you hadn’t mentioned that you still had a crush on Eddie. And as you pulled into your driveway, you were panicking again because…well what did this mean now that Steve was spending time with Eddie?

Would he say anything? God, did Steve already know?

It really was nice that Steve was hanging out with Eddie...they seemed to get along well enough. And yeah Eddie had the guys but…well, it wasn’t a stretch to say that Eddie could use as many friends on his side as he could get. He always put on a brave face but that didn’t mean he never felt lonely. Or alone. Stuck in a place he desperately didn’t want to be.

You just wanted to tell him it was ok. That he had you if he want—

"God, stop," you slammed your hands against the steering wheel as though it would force the thoughts from your brain. As though it would stop your heart from aching. "Stop thinking about him, you have to stop thinking about him."

Because the more you thought about Eddie, the more you’d want to comfort him.

And the more you wanted to comfort him, the more you’d want to hold him and kiss him.

And he’d made it plenty clear tonight that he didn’t see you as anything more than Mickey’s Kid Sister’s Silly Friend.

Or at least that’s just how it felt.

Another busybody townie who couldn’t mind their own business, who had to offer words of encouragement, who pitied him.

No. Not that. He didn't give people who pitied him the time of day. What if...

Bile rose in your throat as you came to a realization.

What if he didn’t just see you as another silly townie? What if he had known? He had known you had a crush on him all along, and he had taken pity on you. Because you were Terry's friend, he didn't want you to get hurt. And now that you were with Steve...he couldn't let you keep your hopes up anymore? You had a real boyfriend now.

That was it...

He was just...being nice to you all this time.

And that...hurt.

The realization of all that wasted time. Years spent thinking...hoping...

You made it into your house, went through the motions of getting ready for bed, and numbly said goodnight to your mom as your mind raced and raced and your heart broke even more.

It wasn't until you were tucked into bed, head filled with sad thoughts of every time you thought that maybe...just maybe Eddie liked you back, that you remembered.

Your diary.

Some silly old pink think that Terry had gotten you for your birthday years ago. You didn't write in it too often—you hadn't ever really been a diary person—certainly not recently. It was tucked into your nightstand underneath magazines and random junk from your school bag.

You sat up, turned the lamp on, and opened the drawer. You dug through the junk until you found it.

You flipped indiscriminately through pages filled with doodles and random thoughts. Until you came across entries from your freshman year at Hawkins High.

Silly things about class schedules and how mean Mrs. O'Donnell was and how you were not good in geometry.

And then...hearts and stars and flowers and one name repeated over and over and over...

Eddie Munson. Edward Munson. Mrs. Edward Munson.

You ran your fingers over the indentations your pen made in the pages as you read your own silly words.

Eddie invited us to sit with them at lunch.Terry said no, that she wanted to sit closer to the cheerleaders. Maybe they would be nicer to us if they actually knew we existed.

Eddie held open the door for me when I passed him in the hallway.

Eddie got his driver's license. He and his uncle fixed up this van and now he's driving Mickey and Terry to school. He asked if I wanted a ride too, said he would let me ride shotgun on Fridays. He's so sweet.

Eddie called me sweetheart today. I swear my heart stopped. I am dead. I have died.

Terry said she has a crush on someone but she won't tell me who it is. I really want to tell her that I have a crush on Eddie. Maybe if she knew, she could say nice things to him about me.

She likes him too. She wants him to ask her to prom. She keeps asking who my crush is and of course I can't tell her. Because he would obviously choose her over me, who am I kidding?

It's the last entry in the diary and the page is warped from old tears and scribbled over with pen.

After that day, you buried the diary in your nightstand. You kept your thoughts to yourself. Writing them down made them real and scary. Instead you let your secrets fester and grow and rot inside of your heart.

You didn't realize you'd started crying until fresh tears started hitting the already-warped page.

"Shit," you scrubbed at your eyes for a second and then stared at the journal as your throat got tight.

Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson.

His name written over and over and over again. Obsessively.

Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler.

Just like Steve had been with Nancy. Always talking about her and thinking about her.

All of your wasted feelings. From both of you.

But Steve had moved on. And so could you.

You ripped the warped page out of the diary and tore it to pieces. And then the next page. And the next one. Over and over until your thoughts and feelings were ripped to confetti on your bedspread.

No more.

It was time to move on from Eddie Munson.

Tag List:

@luna-munson83 @kaitebugg03 @invaderzia1 @delusionalbabe @secretdryrose @eddiesguitarskills @simplyundeniable98 @imaslutforcuddles @hanobe8 @josephquinncore @champagnejoker @strawberrysodaslut @fangirling-4-ever @sadbitchfangirl @rosaline-black @vxlkyrieee @aysheashea @micheledawn1975 @thora-jane @pricelessemotion @lfaewrites @hazydespair @realsuper-dark @novelnovella @jaime1110 @manda-panda-monium

#eddie munson x reader #Steve Harrington x reader #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #Steve harrington fluff #Steve harrington angst #Eddie munson smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #Eddie munson stranger things #Steve harrington stranger things #freaky friday au #god this took forever but im so happy with where it landed #holy shit how are they all gonna fix this now

[nanaminokanojo]

THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 80)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

GENRE: college au | smut | smau | smau + prose | everything in between | ons | fubus to lovers | aged-up characters | idk where this is going

⚠️ TW/CW: strong/mature language | 🔞 | mentions of alcohol, smoking, etc. | this has narrations | god-awful pet names | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 80 next>>

A/N: Full prose ahead. 2.7k words. Contains angst. Advance apology cause I don't know how to write angst, and Gojo fans, don't hate on me lol

You weren’t going to delay matters anymore. There was no point in doing so. The result will be the same at the end of the day, no matter how things play out. Because that’s just what you’re going to make certain of. You’re going to hurt Gojo Satoru, and you were going to make it so he won’t find it himself to seek you afterwards. Things needed to end between the two of you for his own good, be that at the cost of your own heartbreak.

He has noticed it, the way you’ve gone quiet while you two were walking around the village. You were pretty much acting detached from everything even though you were truly enjoying your time together, lamenting the impending thought that it wasn’t going to last, fleeting as the cherry blossoms that lined their driveway. At lunch, you were both pretty much on your phones since every conversation ended abruptly with your one-liners, and your heart clenched so painfully every time he would just smile, most likely downplaying it to you just not being in the mood like you always were. 

It was unfair. You’ve always been appreciative of Satoru because he never ever showed you anything negative. He brought you to beautiful places, always tried to make you smile, comforted you, and acted like a perfect friend you never thought you needed. However, all you’ve ever shown him was coldness, pretty bad mood swings brought about by the baggage you carried because of your father, and you were pretty much dishing attitude at every turn. And just when you thought you could forget about the pretenses and just open up to him, how you usually acted around him became necessary. It has to be done. Looking back, Suguru did tell you about giving Satoru too much to hold on to. You weren’t going to do that anymore.

And as if the skies were trying to reflect your misery over the whole matter, it started raining. Large droplets of water pelted your skin, cold to the touch. The air around you seemed too thick to breathe in as the heat from the ground rose. But at the same time, you felt numb to everything, merely standing there even as you watched the few people on the same path in the village disappear one by one to seek shelter.

Just then, you felt a large hand grab onto yours, pulling you into a sprint, so quick you thought you would throw up at the sudden feeling of being dragged towards another direction. The cobblestone beneath your feet turned into wooden planks as Satoru ran through the rain with you, your world filling with water, the cold feeling seeming to impact your lungs as you held your breath. Suddenly, your momentary numbness was gone, all feeling returning to your body, radiating from where he held you. 

You already knew you were going to feel miserable about it. It was expected. You weren’t angry. Just surprised. Surprised that the thought of parting with Satoru was so painful, it was debilitating. Surprised that despite that, you still had the mind to keep your thoughts straight enough to execute the final act in your little romantic play. 

The moment your head cleared, you found yourself under the eaves of an old tea house. Satoru stood next to you, chuckling, his hair and lashes glimmering with water droplets while you drowned in his icy blue eyes. You always wondered at how carefree he was and did everything, be it serious or fun, as if it was the last time, always to the fullest, alive, happy. Gojo Satoru was indeed a sight to behold, a balm to all the ugliness in the world, easy to find comfort in...easy to love. 

“I didn’t expect it to rain,” he said. He was smiling as he looked at the greenery being blurred out by the continuous torrents of water and the rising fog, but it fell when he glanced at you and noticed how you were just standing there, blankly staring at the ground. 

“Y/N, you’re shivering,” he commented, making his way towards you. You didn’t even realize you were cold until you felt him come closer to you. He groaned then, looking towards the road. “The car’s at the entrance of the village, too.”

You shook your head, about to tell him it didn’t matter, when he suddenly stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close against his chest as he rested his chin on top of your head. He started slowly rubbing your arms, trapping you in the warmth he was creating while you just held your breath, feeling tears stinging your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, willing yourself to think straight as you dug your nails into your palms.

“Warm enough?” he asked, playfully tightening his arms around you.

It starts now.

“Smothering is more like it.” You threw the words out as coldly as you could, concealing the way you were breaking on the inside, laying it on thick by harshly removing one of his arms from you, but Satoru turned you around, caged you in his arms while he kept you within reach, your faces just inches from one another. 

“You seem distant,” he murmured. 

You scoffed, shaking your head as you glared at him as if he did something wrong. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I can feel it,” he told you, the laughter dying in his throat as he tenderly looked at you, a ghost of an expectant smile playing at the corners of his lips. You knew how they felt against yours, and you found yourself unable to breathe again as you looked into each other’s eyes, you being devoured by the depths of his aquamarine orbs as he searched yours, seemingly looking for answers to unspoken questions. 

Satoru briefly looked around the two of you, particularly at the direction of the path. The two of you were practically hidden from everyone where you were at the edge of the block, and with that in mind, he drew closer, his hand sliding lower down the small of your back.

“What –” You raised a hand to push him away, but he maneuvered your arm so it was wrapped around his shoulder as he closed the distance and claimed your lips with his. You were shocked, more for the fact that you responded to him on contact than the fact that he was actually kissing you at that moment. It felt natural, like breathing, as if you were meant to be doing just that with him. But that’s not what’s supposed to be happening. You weren’t supposed to allow him to get even closer.

His lips were plush and soft, and he tasted like candy floss and mint, rendering you sugar-high with his expert ministrations. His hands roamed the expanse of your exposed skin, making you feel hot even while you were wet from the rain. You were expecting everything around you to melt and boil over with how he was making you feel, just kissing you and not really doing anything much.

You pulled away, but he took that as an opportunity to start kissing down your neck as he made you lean against one of the large wooden posts that supported the eaves, both his hands keeping you in place as he kissed you with profound desperation as if he sensed just what you were about to do, the frustration seeping out through every pore of his skin. He pushed his body against yours, and it wasn’t long before you were melting into his touch.

We can’t be together. You suddenly realized that, and despite having no wish to detach yourself from him, you mustered all your will to do just that. Blood boiled under your skin, but it wasn’t because of the feelings his touches elicited but the thought that you didn’t deserve him. Again, you pushed him away, breathing heavily at the effort it took you to do so when neither of you wanted to pull away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dazed. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, feeling the heat behind your eyes as you glowered at him.

“We’ve crossed that line a long time ago, don’t you think?”

“I should not have allowed that.” You glanced at him, something akin to hurt briefly crossing his features. “Hell, I shouldn’t even be here.” 

“What? Why not?” he challenged, all playfulness gone. 

“Because I don’t want to be one of your conquests.” You knew you wounded him with your words just as you heard your heart crack in your chest. That was the last thing in his mind where you were concerned. You knew that, felt it with everything that you are in the past week you’ve been together. Probably even before that. And yet you were using it as a weapon against him. “I don’t want to be one of your playthings.”

“Playthings?” he repeated with inflection. “Y/N, I don’t –”

“It’s clear where this whole thing is going,” you cut him short, keeping your emotions at bay as you spoke calmly without giving away a hint of the roiling you felt inside you as a result of his kisses and every emotion you felt for him. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“I want out of this…this…” You took a deep breath. “Let’s end this.”

Satoru looked torn between confusion and hurt, pupils constricting as he looked at you in disdain and utter perplexity. “So suddenly? Why?” he demanded, his usually cheerful tone gone, now speaking with a cold bite.

You looked away, shrugging. “I just don’t want to do it anymore. Besides, our contract says we can get out of this arrangement without questions asked.”

He shook his head, his expressions contorting into different emotions – anger, sadness, loss – and then he looked at you with more resolve. “I refuse.”

You chuckled derisively at that. “You’re not exactly listening to me, but then again, when did anybody else’s opinions matter to you?” You just looked at him coldly. “If you value our friendship at all, you will stop trying to go there with me.”

He scoffed, scorn shining in his orbs as he bared his teeth in a harsh smile. “Okay, Y/N. I see how it is.” 

“Do you really?” 

“Believe it or not, I’m not as stupid as you seem to think, and I understand enough to see exactly what your opinions are about me regardless of how much you’ve reduced me to just this...this...” He breathed out heavily, shaking his head slightly as he let out a humorless laugh. “It’s crazy how you talk about our friendship while being that condescending.”

You wanted to retract what you said, take it back upon seeing how you were affecting him, but a bigger part of you, that side that thought this was right, refused to. You could almost laugh at how your feelings were mocking you, proving just how badly you’ve caught feelings for him, growing every time he showered you with attention and physical affection. It proved just how selfish you could be by wanting more – more of him, more than just a physical connection and the friendship you spoke of. You wanted him, all of him, to yourself, but you can’t have him. It’s the only way you can protect him. You will not have a hand in ruining his future just because of your feelings. 

Ah, Y/N, you are royally fucked! 

“Isn’t it true, though?” you stated, feigning boredom. “I’m not being disparaging on purpose, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrected, but you ignored it.

“I just want you to know my honest thoughts about whatever is going on between us.” 

“What exactly is that?”

“As of now, nothing. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s better that way.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he hissed under his breath.

“Then yes.” Liar! “It’s what I want.”

“I-I…” He inhaled rather deeply, shakily releasing air from his lungs, eyes watering. “No… I can’t give you that.”

“It’s not a question of whether you can give it to me or not. You don’t get a say in this. We have an agreement.” 

You pushed past him, meaning to just walk away when he pulled you back, making you face him again. His grip on your arm was tight, refusing to let go. He was shaking, seemingly disoriented and unable to make sense of what was happening, eyes probing yours, for any glimmer of hope that you were not saying what he thought you were. “Y-you don’t mean that, sweet cheeks.” He chuckled, cupping your face as he shook his head. “No…”

You tear his hand off you. “Enough –”

“Then fucking look me in the eye and tell me it’s just a contract!” he demanded, voice rising. His placid blue eyes were now storm-ridden seas, making chills run up your spine. You just realized you didn’t want to ever see this side of him; that he even had this side to begin with. But this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? You deserved to carry the consequent agony of seeing it, committing it to your memory to remind yourself of what you did to him and why.

Go ahead. Hate me.

And just when you thought it was excruciating seeing him like that, his tears fell and you felt the sky burst open in your veins, bleeding pain, his and yours combined. “You know, you’ve always made me feel like I’m nothing.” He wiped his tears with his hand, a misplaced smile drawing itself across his mouth. “And I thought that was okay ’cause at least I get some pieces of you in whatever way I can.”

Hate me.

“You always made me feel like that’s all I can ever get and all that I deserve because I’m just this fucking shallow douchebag who’s spoiled rotten and used to getting whatever I wanted. That I’m just this player who’s incapable of being serious, so it doesn’t make any difference if you say shit like that to me, right?” He let out a pained laugh. “But believe it or not, that was never true when it came to you.”

I know that. I’m sorry.

Deciding to drive the knife even deeper, you said, “Why? Because you caught feelings for me?” You sneered at him. “We’re both just a passing phase. You know that. You can’t hold me responsible for your feelings.”

“Please –” He reached out for you, but you took a step back, avoiding him as if you found him repulsive. “Please don’t do this.”

You turned around, unable to keep up with your act anymore upon seeing his face, begging you. The Gojo Satoru was begging. You couldn’t watch, not anymore. You’ve stated your piece, and that was enough. He won’t forgive you for sure. He’ll hate you now. And even if that was the goal, you felt your knees buckling at the thought that you wounded him so.

“Y/N…”

Don’t look back.

You walked into the rain, taking heavy yet deliberate steps. 

“I love you.”

You paused. Despite his distress, he still managed to say it with the utmost tenderness, sincerity, and resolve. That’s just how he is – good, honest, unafraid. Everything you’re not. And maybe that’s why you don’t deserve him at all, even if the circumstances didn’t call for you to leave him. Eventually, you would let him go, and you would reason that it’s because it’s for his own good, but really, you’re just too much of a coward to love like he does.

You were about to take another step when he said it again, this time with more conviction. “I love you, Y/N.”

I love you, too, Satoru.

“I’m in love with you.”

“I love you.” He said it over and over again, and you took a step away with every single utterance of those words. Until all you could hear was the pouring rain. Until all you felt all the feeling ebbing away again, replaced by something cold. Until all that consumed you was the raw ache of knowing you’ll never feel Satoru’s warmth again.

A/N: Leaving you guys with this. I'll be uploading more over the next days. Just been hella busy.

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @arizzu @cloudxp @justpuddinglol @mikkies @nyfwyeonjun @whats-humanity-lol @letthewindlead @whore-of-many-hot-men @localgaytrainwreck @pikibee @bloombb @mr-underhills-things @lysaray @chocoyanchan @poemzcheng @bookswillfindyouaway @dreamxiing @koutaroo @taelattecookie @kazuhasmaid @weebbuscuit @moonmalice @taengkatsu @reagan707

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20240217]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo smut #gojo smau #gojo angst #gojo hcs #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk smau #jujutsu kaisen smau #sukuna #geto suguru #social media au

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 4.3k

chapter summary: new dynamics, new outlooks. the story comes to an end.

warnings: cock worship, oral (male receiving), ass play, anal sex, spit as lube, dirty talking

a/n: this is the last chapter of this series but there will be an epilogue coming very very soon. thank you to everyone who joined me on this journey and I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it xx

Railhead - The end of a railroad line where trains can be loaded and unloaded, often in a remote location.

You’re proud, to say the least. Looking back at the train, your chest swells with indescribable emotion. The outside might look rusty and dusty—something Javier was adamant about so no one would want to come take a closer look—but the inside was where your efforts truly shined. Through the windows, you catch a glimpse of the plants you potted in old cans you cut into two and one semi-intact clay pot. A fence surrounds the train, booby-trapped just in case someone lurks nearby.

Javier comes out and stands next to you, he’s chewing on a long-stemmed dandelion. His signature aviators nestled above his head. 

“We fucking did it. An actual living place,” his shoulders raise slightly, the corner of his lips twitching into a smile. “I can’t believe we actually did it without killing each other.” 

You roll your eyes and come to stand in front of him. His eyes drop to your lips, then smoothly travel back up to meet your gaze. You smile playfully as you quickly pluck the dandelion from his lips, closing the distance, you slant your lips together. As always, he’s hungry. He cups your waist and pulls you flush against his body, slipping his tongue between your wanting lips. You groan loudly, your stomach doing somersaults as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. Every part of you is humming with delight. 

But then Javier suddenly parts, and you’re left aching. 

“Hey—” 

“I got a surprise for you.”  

You blink before answering, “A surprise?” 

“Si,” he chirps quickly, brown eyes shining. He holds your hand and pulls you towards the entrance of the train. “Follow me, querida. I’m sure you’re going to appreciate it.” 

“Hmmm we’ll see.” Javier sits you on the tattered couch and disappears into the makeshift bedroom—your shared bedroom. “How did you even manage to get me something?” you call out. “We literally go everywhere together.” 

“I have my ways.” then he adds. “It’s handmade.” 

Handmade? 

He appears from the narrow threshold, he’s holding a small box, “Here,” he says, placing it on your lap. “Maybe you’ll complain less thanks to this.” 

“Charming as always.” 

You carefully lift the lid, a pair of intricately crafted insoles catches your eye. Javier watches you intently, his full attention making your heart stutter. The insoles, are fashioned from what seems to be a combination of salvaged leather and repurposed fabric.

“I—Insoles?” you gasp, tears prick the corner of your eyes. You lift your gaze and your brows furrow as you meet his. “I don’t remember mentioning I had shitty insoles.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

The edges are neatly stitched with a weathered thread, showcasing the craftsmanship that went into it. You notice the tiny details, like irregular patterns and faded hues, hint at a past life.  

Javier grins, leaning in as you inspect your gift. "I found an old leather jacket and some sturdy fabric in one of the abandoned buildings. Thought it might make your life a bit comfier. And hopefully—it’ll make my ears hurt less."

“Don’t ruin the moment, Javi.” 

“I don’t want you crying. I can’t handle you crying.” 

“Aw, big scary Fedra soldier afraid of some happy tears?” 

“Didn’t say I was afraid,” his lips touch your forehead, you lean into the heat of them as he takes a seat next to you. “I just don’t enjoy being the person who put them there.” 

“You do know what happy means right?” 

He waves a hand, “Tears are tears, perla. I’d rather see you smile and laugh.” 

Looking back down, you run your fingers over the textured surface. It’s soft, resilient. The insoles seem to mold to the contours of your hands, promising a snug fit when placed inside your old boots. The scent of worn leather and a hint of dust lingers.

"Try them on," Javier urges, his eyes gleaming with eagerness. He nudges you slightly with his shoulder. 

“Alright alright. Just give me a second.” 

You slip the handmade insoles into your shoes, a surprisingly pleasant sensation envelops your feet. You sigh pleasantly and your eyelids flutter. 

“That good, huh?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

Javier watches your reaction closely, "So, what do you think?"

"Handmade indeed," you muse, a soft smile breaking across your face. "You always find a way to make things special," quickly, you lean in, your kiss taking him by surprise. “Thank you, Javier.” 

He holds you by the hip, hands gradually moving lower to your backside. A shudder runs up your spine, your breathing becoming short-paced. 

“Say my name again.” 

“Javier,” you repeat, a bit more breathily this time. He stands up, the sudden movement making your head spin. He’s not touching you anymore. Instead, he’s just staring at you, his eyes like charcoal. 

“Again.” 

“Javier.” 

His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, he pushes you towards him, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. You inhale sharply. 

“Where do you want me to fuck you?” he asks. “The couch or the bed?” 

“B—Bed,” you stutter. When he clicks his tongue with disapproval, you say, “I want you to fuck me on the bed, Javier.” 

“That’s my good little troublemaker. My sweet thorn.” Before releasing you, he keeps you still, his fingers digging into your neck. “Before I fuck you,” he groans. “I want you to suck my cock, baby. I want you to get it nice and wet, want you to fucking worship it. Understood?” 

You nod in a daze. Javier smiles, a bit of softness showing in his irises. His hand dropping from your neck, he kneads the plump flesh of your ass. “Then I’m going to worship this gorgeous ass. Does that sound fair to you?” 

You swallow thickly, not sure what to say when your head is swimming in deep arousal. 

“Yes,” you whimper. “That sounds fair.” 

The way to the ‘bedroom’ is a blur of quick kisses and rapid stripping; some part of you doesn’t want to remove your boots, you want to continue to appreciate the insoles he made for you, but sadly, you end up kicking them off. 

“Lay down,” you say, taking back some of the control. While Javier pulls down his pants, you suck the skin above his collarbone, tracing the bone underneath with your tongue. A soft whimper reverberates in his throat, dragging your lips up, you kiss his bobbing Adam’s apple. “I haven’t even begun worshipping your cock and you’re already a mess?” You palm his erection, grinning at the way it twitches in your palm. “Are you going to come as soon as I wrap my lips around you, Javier?” 

He grunts and grips your wrist, “Don’t start a war you can’t finish.” 

You know the words are meant to be a lighthearted tease, but they affect you more than you anticipate. You look down at his scar, almost ashamed at the cruel past that ended up binding you two together. 

He must’ve felt it because he lifts your chin, forcing your gaze back to him, “We’re not in a battle anymore,” he reminds you. “There are no wars. And even if there were any, I have no intention of joining when I’m desperately in love with you.” 

Love. 

He’s in love? 

With you? 

“I want to witness the beauty the world still has to offer. . . with you.” 

Your eyes go wide, your pulse skyrocketing in your veins. Your chest heaves. Love. A feeling so foreign that you thought you’d never be on the receiving end. Love. An emotion so complex that sometimes it felt you were the only one capable of it. Love. The emotion Javier feels for you. 

Love. The emotion you feel for Javier. 

You don’t say it—mostly because you’ll get choked up if you do—but you do kiss him with every bit of emotion you feel towards him. You breathe him in. Inhale him. You feel his lashes on your skin as he closes his eyes, feel the thud of his heart against your own chest. 

Love. 

What an amazing thing it was. 

And a cruel thing you were only able to find after the world ended. 

“Get on the bed,” you say, softer this time. Javier complies, the bed creaking in protest at his weight. You strip down completely. Your underwear and bra left on the floor. You want to be bare. You want to be safe. And you are safe, with him you’ll always be. 

“I love this pretty cock,” you mutter, kissing the side. The muscle in Javier’s jaw tenses, his teeth coming together. You lick up to the tip and wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the ridge. Before he can get comfortable, you drag your lips back down, following the vein that throbs violently under your soft flesh, you take one of his testicles into your mouth. You suck on it slowly and release it, blowing a bit of air over the spit-slicked skin. 

“Fuck,” he growls, hips jerking. “Fuck fuck fuck—That’s it baby, that’s it. . . Shit—” 

Javier’s head falls back, his dark locks a mess above the white-ish pillowcase. You dip your tongue between the crease of them and flattening your tongue, you lick the underside of his cock. His breath comes in short, fast pants. You take him into your mouth, sucking him halfway until the tip touches the back of your throat. You feel your nipples tightening, your pussy soaked from pleasuring him. Javier cradles the back of your head for dear life, thrusting into your mouth with shallow thrusts. You let him. You’d let him ruin you, you’d let him tear you apart and stick you together again. 

A series of moans and groans drop from his lips. Saliva trickles down his length, going down his thighs. Moaning around him, you grip the meat of his legs and push yourself down. He sinks into your throat desperately, his breath hitching when your throat convulses around him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, pushing you off his cock. “I don’t want to come yet but your mouth is too damn tempting.” You look up to him with a grin, he reaches towards you, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “Next time I’ll fuck this pretty mouth so well you won’t be smiling about it.”

“I’ll hold you up to that, you know.” 

“Good.” 

Javier pulls the pillow under you while he guides you to all fours. Suddenly you’re feeling too exposed with your ass in the air. You chew the inside of your cheek and look down at the sheets. He flattens his palm above your spine, his hand moving all the way down, he stands on his knees right behind you, his cock wet and heavy above the swell of your ass. 

“Just say the word and we’ll stop.” 

“No, I. . . I want it, I’m just nervous because I’ve never actually. . .” you trail off, your cheeks flaring at the thought of speaking openly—which is hilarious when you think about it because this man has literally seen the worst of you. “I’ll tell you if I need to stop. Promise.”

Javier seems satisfied by your answer and playfully slaps your ass. You imagine him smiling, stoked to have you in a way that no one else has. He parts your cheeks, you hear the sound of his mouth as a string of saliva drips right onto your hole, Javier hums, and with a thumb, he smears it over. Your breath hitches. He hasn’t even done much, yet you’re already dizzy with the vicious way your heart beats in your chest. 

Javier spits again, a pleasurable shudder crawls up your spine. Your nipples tighten. Goosebumps rising across your skin. He slowly pushes in a finger, he stops shortly after, examining the way your back tenses at the pressure. With his other hand, he caresses your spine. It’s soothing and you relax into his touch. 

“Wish we had lube,” he murmurs. You hear the rustle of sheets as he moves. “But hopefully this’ll be enough to loosen you up, querida.” 

His lips are nothing short of sin. You groan at the touch of his tongue, the velvet muscle swirling around you. He groans at your taste, pulls you closer by gripping your waist. You go willingly. Gathering spit in his mouth, he pushes, your body jolts as he wiggles his tongue inside. 

His hand moves down to your clit, rubbing slow circles over the swollen nub. You feel your arousal growing, your body responding to his touch. You moan and squirm, unable to control yourself. It’s too much but also not enough all at the same time. He kisses where he’s been fucking you with his tongue and presses the same finger inside. This time it slides in with ease but he stops half-knuckle deep. 

Your body tenses when he swipes over your clit again. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, mouth moving over the plump flesh of your ass. 

"Amazing," you gasp, your body tingling with pleasure. 

He moves his hand away from your clit and you whimper at the loss of his touch. But before you can protest, you feel him pulling out. Slightly turning, you see him licking his fingers, getting them wet. His hair is a mess, his beard thicker now that time has passed. Your heart swells and your lashes flutter. A beat later, your eyes meet. Javier makes a show up sucking his fingers, smiling around them. 

“Are you enjoying the show?” he asks, pressing both fingers against your hole. 

Instead of words, a choked-out sound drops from your lips. Your head falls back, your body arching as he pushes them deep. 

"Relax, mi amor," he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. You wince at the stretch, but his spit makes it easier, and soon his fingers are sliding in and out of you, stretching you open. 

Javier leans over you, his body covering yours. You feel his hard length against your back, and you know that he's just as turned on as you are. His fingers begin to move faster, scissoring and curling inside of you. He moans with you, precome dripping down your back and onto the sheets. Your body begs for more and more and more—

"Please," you gasp, meeting the thrust of his fingers. "I need you inside me, Javier." 

“How can I ever say no when you beg so sweetly,” he rasps, chest heaving. “Mi dulce perla.” 

He pulls his fingers out of you and you feel a sudden emptiness. But it's quickly replaced as he lines himself up with you and slowly begins to push into you. You gasp as he stretches you wide, he stops mid-thrust, waiting for you to adjust. Slack-jawed, you feel sweat beading at your temple. Javier finds your clit again, playing with it until you’re a soaking mess over his fingers, your body squeezing him tight. A loud groan trembles within his chest and he rocks forward, his cock filling you completely.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he says, voice hoarse. “I could go on like this all day long—until the day I die.” 

You want to quip back at him, maybe mention that there’s no way he can go that long, but you lack the ability to form sentences. An elongated groan slips past your lips instead and you swear he smiles, without even looking you can sense the mischievous smile curling at his pretty, plush lips. 

Javier starts thrusting into you, slowly at first and then building up speed. His hands caress your body, over your back, and down your hips. You can hear the sound of his lower abdomen slapping against your ass, along with both your moans filling the air. His cock hits all the right spots inside of you, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You grip the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto as he hammers into you, the wet sounds growing and growing with every move.

You feel a sudden intensity building within you, rising higher and higher with each thrust of Javier’s hips. He lets out a low growl, his grip on your hips tightening as he pounds into you harder. You can’t help but moan loudly You’re feeling overwhelmed but in the best way possible. 

Javier leans down and whispers into your ear, “You look so fucking sexy like this, taking my cock in your ass. You enjoy it don’t you—my sweet filthy girl.”

His words, along with his cock pounding into your tight hole, send you over the edge and you come with a loud cry, your entire body trembling. Your clit throbs as your cunt squeezes around nothing, pulsing viciously as your orgasm is ripped away. You clench around him and Javier’s movements become erratic. Suddenly, he stills, his body tensing as he reaches his peak. You feel him release inside of you, filling you up as he continues to thrust into you, prolonging his orgasm. Your eyes roll and your lids flutter, your own release washing over you as you come undone with him. He stays buried inside, both of you panting and catching your breath, until he finally pulls out. 

Javier collapses onto your back, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. You both lie there for a few moments, basking in the aftermath. He eventually pulls out of you and you move to lay on your side, feeling his spent trickling down the back of your thighs, you face each other.

He strokes your cheek gently, looking into your eyes with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. “You were amazing, mi vida,” he says, still trying to catch his breath. 

You smile back at him, “So were you,” you reply, running your fingers through his hair. “Though sadly, I don’t think we can do that again for a while. I’m going to be feeling it for days.” 

Just as he opens his lips, a sudden chill settles over your sweat-slicked body and his eyes drop down to your naked body with worry. “Are you cold?” 

“A bit,” you admit unwillingly. You slightly stir, attempting to reach for the blanket. “Winter is finally coming, huh?” 

Javier leans in and kisses you softly, his lips moving against yours in a slow, loving dance. You feel a warmth spread through your body, then you feel it on the outside as he reaches down, grabbing the blanket for you.

“It is.” 

“Is there a reason we’re outside in the middle of the night?” you grumble, hugging yourself, you follow Javier’s footsteps. “It’s fucking freezing.” 

The crisp night clings to your skin, freezing everywhere it touches. You miss the heat of your shared bed, the heat of another body against yours. With narrowed eyes, you glare at the man who is not slowing his steps. Javier takes your hand into his own, forcing you to move faster. He’s been secretive ever since he woke you—and it was definitely not pleasurable to be waken up in the middle of the night, especially in this day and age. 

“Javierrrrr,” you whine, throwing your head back. “It’s cold. . .” 

“You’ll thank me, I promise.” 

“Fine. I trust you,” you chew on your bottom lip and smile. “But mainly because you made me new insoles.” 

He turns to you, eyes round and simply adorable, “Are they keeping you warm?” 

“They are.”

The two of you continue your journey through the night, and as you walk, Javier's hand remains firmly clasped around yours. The crunch of leaves beneath your feet echoes in the quiet darkness, a lullaby that once again makes you wish you were in bed instead.

After what feels like an eternity, Javier leads you to a small clearing. Your eyes go wide when you notice the soft silver beams cascading onto the patch of ground underneath The air is still, and the world seems to hold its breath, the only sound being the faint rustle of leaves. 

Your breath catches as you step into the open space, your hand slipping away from Javier’s. A field of flowers had bloomed in various shades, their slender stems standing proud. The delicate petals reflect the silvery light. They remind you of stars, their petals pointed instead of round like you’re accustomed to.

A gasp escapes your lips, and a radiant smile spreads across your face. Your head snaps to Javier, "What are these?" you ask. 

Javier's gaze shifts from the flowers to you, and in that moment, the world fades away. 

“I have no idea what they are,” he answers, finger moving over his bottom lip. “But they only bloom at night.” 

Your heart swells, “They’re beautiful. Thank you” 

He steps closer, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your cheek. "Don’t mention it,” he brushes your lips together, the warmth of his breath making your melt into the earth. “Besides, they’re pale compared to you.” 

“No need to charm me further,” you grin. “You already have me.” 

“Do I now?” 

“You do.” 

As you share a tender kiss, the first snowflake falls. Then another. The world quiets down, and as you pull away, you notice the first snowflakes gently falling around you. Breaking away you both look at each other, then up to the sky. 

It's here – winter has finally arrived.

Surprisingly, despite the cold, you've never felt warmer. In that simple kiss and under the falling snow, there's a magic that makes everything feel just right.

The day was warm, the sun bright. Small petals flew further away from the green grass, colorful flowers moving left and right with the soft caress of the wind. The grass tickled your bare ankles. You felt lucky to have found some regular shoes. If not you would have to wear your boots that made your feet feel like it was in a sauna. The lovely weather felt like a joke. It wasn’t the reality you lived in, just a mirage of the life before—though even then, it wasn’t quite perfect was it? 

Your grip tightened around the straps of your bag. If you listened close enough you could hear the clatter of all the guns you were meant to smuggle in. The FEDRA was cruel in Kansas City. It was like the boogeyman stories but real. 

You took a deep breath, your eyes scanning your surroundings one last time. It was like a spitting image of a Van Gogh painting. The world was still alive. It wasn’t infected, it didn’t know about the monsters that lurked on the surface.  

Turning around, you continued to walk uphill, your chest starting to ache from both the heat and the constant walking. 

Then you saw him. 

A FEDRA soldier. 

Your eyes momentarily went wide. He wasn’t looking at you, He was fidgeting, constantly looking around as if he was waiting for someone. Worry made a home in your gut. You didn’t think you had the strength in you to fight anyone off today. You just wanted to help the people and get rid of the weight of the guns. 

The vest he wore looked like it dug uncomfortably into his chest, his rifle slung over his back, and pistol snug on his hip. You wondered if he would use either one on you—

Your eyes locked on one another. 

Your breath halts in your chest, your heart ramming angrily and fearfully against its boney cage. 

He raised a sole eyebrow, eyes narrowing. He was assessing you, trying to see how much of a threat you were. 

“Who are you?” he asked and pulled out a cigarette pack from his back pocket. “You’ll get hurt if you wander around much, hermosa.” 

You swallowed, “I—I’m just walking by,” you paid careful attention to make your voice sound meek and frightened. You lifted both your hands in surrender. “Please don’t shoot.” 

He lit his cigarette and made no move toward his weapons. You eyed him nervously. FEDRA was not to be trusted. 

“That wasn’t my question.” 

“I just want a place to stay for the night. I was hoping to take refuge here for the night and leave first thing in the morning.” 

The soldier looked through his lashes and he shielded the tiny flame with his hand. When the cigarette finally came to life, he took a deep breath then looked up to the sky. 

“I really want to trust you. You have a kind face,” he said, sounding tired. “But your bag is making me doubt you.” 

You froze, “Please. You can trust me.”  

“And that’s all everyone needs during the end of times isn’t it?” he asked, not really wanting an answer. “Someone they can trust.” 

He lowered his gaze, looking back at you, he sighed. His gaze lingered on you for an uncomfortable long amount. Your feet were glued to the soil, heat blossoming all over your skin. He had a kind face too. In another life, you might’ve even fallen for eyes. 

The soldier suddenly blinked as if hitten by electricity, something he saw bothered him and you worried he saw right through you. Saw that you were a firefly, that you were carrying a shit ton of weapons. But he didn’t say anything. 

“Go.” 

“Go?” 

He looked away, “Go before I change my mind. I have someone I need to meet anyway.” 

So he was waiting for someone. Briefly, you wonder but quickly shrug the thoughts away. You had a mission.

You mumbled a thanks as you walked past him, your arms brushing in the process. As you left, you tried not to think about the electricity that circulated you, about the brown eyes and the tired look in them—

You tried not to fall for the possibility of a happy ending. Tried not to look for him when the chaos ensued, when Kathleen took over. 

You tried. 

And you failed. Miserably. 

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña au #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #tlou crossover #the last of us fanfic #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction

[m-jelly]

Can I request Erwin x wife reader canon AU where he returns home after the Mission where they met the Beast Titan ( yeah he returned alive ) . His wife isn't in military but she is a business woman and she had gone to another town for work when Erwin also left for mission. While she is returning back in evening there r rumours that Erwin is dead and reader gets worried very much to such an extent that she cries in her bedroom holding Erwin 's clothes praying he is alive. Erwin returns late night with good news and he finds reader awake with puffy eyes and pale face wearing only his shirt on her desk with her documents but she is crying. Reader sees Erwin and tackles him into a hug on the floor and Erwin comforts her. They take a bath together where reader pampers him and then they make love to each other in bed ( Erwin has a prosthetic arm here)

Return to me

Pairing: Erwin x Fem!Reader

Genre and tags: Married, canon AU, romance, angst, emotional, hurt Erwin, comfort, fluff, suggestive themes.

Concept: After returning home from a business trip you discover that your husband isn't home yet and people are spreading rumours that Erwin died in battle while facing the Beast Titan. Alone with your thoughts and a house full of your husband's things, you began your grieving process. While accepting the loss of your husband you get a surprise. Erwin comes homes.

Your mind and body ached as you climbed out of your carriage and went inside the local shop. You released a long yawn and collected a few bits you knew Erwin would love. You'd been away for a couple of days and you missed your husband.

"It was a massacre."

"I heard that too. I'm not surprised. The scouts keep letting us down."

"Commander Smith is a joke."

"Mm, I agree. He's made a mess of the scouts. Part of me thinks he enjoys killing people."

"Thank the walls he died out there, hopefully whoever takes over will fix the scouts."

Your eyes widened at the two people gossiping. You dropped your things causing them to look over at you. You moved your gaze over to them and saw how white they looked as they felt embarrassed. You welled up as they hurried away from you and mumbled sorries.

You heard a muffled voice as your ears started ringing. Your vision blurred as your heart dropped in your chest. You started shaking as fear and panic set in. You didn't know what you were going to do if Erwin was lost to you.

"Ma'am?"

You flinched at the shop owner's touch and voice. "Y-yes?"

He smiled softly. "I'll give you a reduction. Get yourself home and remember, it is just gossip."

You picked up your things and hummed. "Y-Yes, gossip..." You hugged your bag close as you paid for everything. "Thank you." You bowed to the man before hurrying away. You crossed the street and moved through the town a little before reaching your home.

You locked the door and carried out your usual routine. You went into autopilot because your heart and head couldn't handle the thought that Erwin might be dead. You went so far into the zone that when you returned to your thoughts you realised that you'd put two drinks out and two plates of food.

You gazed at Erwin's usual spot at your side. Erwin always loved being as close to you as possible, so there was this emptiness and coldness now he was gone. All you did was stare at his spot and not touch your food. You were trying to will Erwin into existence.

You clenched your fist tightly as a lump expanded in your throat. Your sight became cloudly as your wish was not granted. You stood up with such force that your chair screamed out. You glared at Erwin's spot and felt angry. You felt betrayed by him because of the promises of love he had made.

You turned on your heels and stormed into your bedroom to see how Erwin had left the bed before going on his mission. You clutched your chest at seeing your night dress and pillow close to his side of the bed, meaning the last thought in your husband's sweet head before leaving for his fatal mission, were you.

Before your mind caught up with you, you'd dropped to your knees. You screamed in agony knowing you'd never hear Erwin chuckle again, see him smile, feel his strong hands, or hear his sweet moans. You knew very well that you would never marry again. You would never be with another man because your heart belonged to Erwin Smith.

You cried on the floor until you felt like vomiting. You hurried to the bathroom and dry-heaved for a while before you were too exhausted. You sat on the floor for a while and just stared out at the room, but your eyes wouldn't focus. You were void of life or light.

You stumbled to Erwin's wardrobe and pulled out a shirt of his. You pressed it against your face and inhaled deeply. You closed your eyes and smiled at his soothing scent. You hummed a laugh as memories fluttered through your head. You wanted Erwin to be home in your arms. You wanted to protect him. Erwin had been hurt so much recently and you just needed him with you.

You slowly dragged your clothes off and pulled on Erwin's shirt. You stumbled to your office and plopped down in your seat. You stared at the papers all over your desk and felt no drive or passion to work. Without Erwin, you had lost all drive and inspiration.

"Sweetheart?"

You snapped your head over to look at the door. Your tired eyes widened as you took in your husband with a wooden right arm.

Erwin took a step closer. "My love, are you okay? You've been crying."

You raced over to Erwin and dove into his arms. "Erwin!"

Erwin stumbled back a little. "I'm here."

You clung to his back as you rubbed your face against his big pecs. "People said you died!"

"You thought I was dead?"

"Yes!"

He rubbed your back slowly. "I'm sorry. It was bad, but I pulled through it all. We've been through a lot, huh? I got my arm bitten off, then I was jailed and beaten and after all that I ran off into battle." He sighed and kissed your forehead. "I got so consumed with the idea of what was in the basement and beyond the walls, I lost sight of what I had." He released a long sigh. "I just want a better life for you."

You rubbed your tears away. "I have the perfect life with you. I don't want to change a single thing."

Erwin cupped your face with one hand. "And I have come to see that I'm the same as you. I don't want to change a thing now." He captured your lips in a passionate kiss. "I'm done with the scouts. I'm too hurt and I want to focus all my attention on the woman of my dreams."

You giggled. "Oh, you."

"I would love to snuggle, but I am rather ripe right now and need to clean."

You gasped and grabbed his bag. "I'll help!" You dropped his bag on a seat before rushing over to him and grabbing his hand. "This way!"

Erwin chuckled as he stumbled after you. "You're adorable, you know?"

You gazed back at him. "I want to spoil my husband. I thought you died today, so I want to remind myself that you are here and alive."

Erwin smiled as you made a hot bath for him. He let you take off his fake arm and then peel his clothes off. He sighed as he felt relief at everything being taken off. He felt pretty gross after everything he'd been through. He had been so very close to death, but luckily all rocks thrown by the beast had missed him.

He moaned when you helped him into the bath and he sank down into the water. He closed his eyes as you used a sponge to clean every inch of him. He hummed a laugh as you scrubbed his hair of all the mess within it before rinsing.

He opened his eyes and gazed at you with all the love in his heart. He reached over and caressed your cheek. "Join me."

You pouted a little. "I would, but you need to relax."

"I would relax better if you were in here with me."

You huffed. "Okay."

Erwin smirked as you took off his shirt and then underwear. He reached over and ran his big hand over your plump bum. "I missed this body of yours."

You climbed into the bath as you smiled. "Well, this body missed yours."

He opened his arms. "Come here."

You shifted over before laying in his arms. "I'm so glad the rumours weren't true. I'm glad you're back with me."

Erwin squeezed you with his one arm. "Me too. You know, you were always on my mind out there."

You closed your eyes and listened to the beating of his heart. "I always thought of you."

He purred at you. "I love you."

You leaned up and kissed him. "I love you too."

"I am looking forward to tonight. I'm going to bury myself deep inside you. I'm going to move slowly and passionately. I want to remind you that I'm alive and just how much I love you."

You blushed a little as your mind raced. You shifted and straddled your man and felt something long getting hard between your thighs. You smiled softly as you played with his wet hair. "I will do the same. I want you to know how deeply I love you and how I'm not going anywhere." You crashed your lips against Erwin's. "My sweet husband."

"My darling wife."

#jelly fanfics #erwin fluff #commander erwin #shingeki no kyoujin erwin #aot erwin #erwin smith #erwin x reader #attack on titan erwin #snk erwin #erwin x y/n #erwin x you #erwin smith x you #erwin smith x y/n #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith aot #erwin smith fluff #commander erwin smith #snk #aot fanfiction #fanfic

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 22

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 21 🟣 Part 23

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, abusive parents, drama, angst, more drama.

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: Alright so actually I'd completely forgotten that I had this finished, and I found it today, so... enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @ellethespaceunicorn @mis-lil-red @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

Three weeks later you had all but forgotten about Katie’s threats, and you were getting ready to spend a day in with your four favorite guys, gathering snacks, drinks and blankets for a cozy movie-marathon — something you felt you very much deserved because not even August had been able to ward you of all the discomfort of having that IUD put in.

Your plans were disrupted by the doorbell. Sherlock opened the door, and though you couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, you recognized that voice immediately.

“May I inquire what this is about?” Sherlock asked politely, not immediately ready to let the strangers inside.

“We were informed that our daughter is living here, and that we should go see her.” You’d recognize your mother’s distinctive accent anywhere. It cut through all other sounds — and not in a good way… Sherlock turned to look at you, and you nodded as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Darlin’!” your mom pulled you into a hug, and after that your dad did the same, only in a much more possessive way. Your mother looked around the room, at the table full of snacks, the nest on the couch and the four guys in the living room. “Are these friends of yours?”

“These are, eh… my roommates,” you stammered, surprised you had even managed to choke out a single word of that sentence. This was not going to end well.

“You’ve been living with four men?” Your father looked as though his face was about to explode. You could have seen that coming. You should have seen that coming. Just like you could have predicted your mom’s gasping and proverbial pearl-clutching. What were they even doing he—Katie! That bitch.

“Yes, mom,” you said, your voice betraying you. They were never going to approve of this arrangement, never mind the other arrangement you had with the guys. Maybe there was a chance you wouldn’t have to tell them about that.

Of course, they weren’t just going to leave — especially not after such a long drive — so August made everyone coffee while trying to keep you as calm as possible. Mike tried a few times to get closer to you, but you shook your head. Having four guys as roommates was strike one. A boyfriend would be strike two, and possibly also three. Learning that any of them was a vampire would likely give your dad an aneurysm. Not that that would be such a bad thing, but still. You were so completely unprepared to have this conversation…

So you drank your coffee and introduced your partners as friends, tearing off little pieces of your heart with every word, not so much because of the lie you told your parents, but because you couldn’t gather the strength to tell your family about your situation. Yes, it was unconventional, and yes, it was absolutely going to cause some really big problems… but you loved the guys so much. Then why was it so hard to choose their love?

“They’re your family, I promise we all understand,” Marshall let you know, and you thanked the universe for his gift and the fact that it was becoming so well-established outside of feeding situations.

“You’re my family too,” you replied, fighting back tears. “Probably more than they are.”

He promised you that you’d get through this, that life would go back to normal, and that your parents didn’t have to find out about the details of your relationship with the guys, and it all seemed to be headed that way — until something startled your mother and she dropped her empty coffee cup as she reached to put it back on the table. Unthinkingly as ever, Mike snatched it before it could hit the ground — a feat you could have passed off as ‘incredible reflexes’, if not for the fact that he was on the other side of the room from your mother when it happened, and he was back in his chair with the cup in his hands after barely a second.

“Darlin’, come here,” your father said slowly as he got up from his chair. “Now.”

“No, dad, sit down.”

“We have to leave,” he insisted. “That man is a vampire.” He held a hand out to you, and in that moment half of your childhood flashed before your eyes. Countless memories of being pulled along, dragged away from all things deemed dangerous and ungodly… Endless lectures on dangers you now knew never even existed in the first place. The amount of times that hand had struck you for disobedience and being ‘too curious for your own good’ — whatever the hell that meant.

“I’m aware of that,” you answered, your voice surprisingly even.

As per your predictions, your dad’s face looked like he was about to explode. “Y-you’re… aware of that?”

“Honey, you… you knew he was a vampire, and you chose to live with him anyway?” Your mother was pale as a sheet and looked like she was about to faint.

“I didn’t know at first,” you explained quietly, “and when he told me… I was shocked, of course. But… it didn’t change anything. He was still the guy I met… the guy I… fell in love with.” Cat, say goodbye to bag.

You focused your attention on the throbbing vein on your father’s forehead, so you could avoid looking into his eyes for a moment longer.

“Do I understand correctly that you are living with four men, one of whom is a vampire, and you are also seeing that boy? That… monster?” Mommy dearest was three seconds away from smoke coming out of her ears, dad’s face displayed an interesting mix of terror and fury. And you… you were finally fed up with all of this.

“No, mom, you’re mistaken,” you spoke slowly as the rational part of your brain begged you not to do what you were about to do. “I’m living with four men, all vampires…”

“Don’t say it,” Marshall broke into your thoughts, “please. They’ll never forgive you. Think about this.”

He was right, of course, and you should think about this a while longer. Blowing up your relationship with your parents on a whim was probably not a great idea, not to mention that they were only here because Katie was such a bitch. And Marshall was right: they’d never forgive you.

“After everything we’ve given you, everything we’ve done for you… we let you go to college!” Your dad spoke through gritted teeth, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “And you thank us by getting involved with these miscreants? You’re coming home, you ungrateful little whore!”

He raised a hand to hit you, but Marshall was faster. Of course he was faster. As soon as your father’s hand connected with Walter’s body, you heard a strange, loud tick — one that reminded you of the electric fences around your old neighbor’s yard. Whatever it was, it made your father retreat.

“Marshall…” You reached for him, only to be pulled back by August.

“Don’t touch him right now,” he warned you quietly. “You’ll get hurt.”

“He attacked me!” your father screamed — presumably mostly at your mother, but who knew…

“Young lady, you are coming home with us,” your mother said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Back to where it’s safe, far away from these abominations.”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon.” Your father seemed to have forgotten the mysterious incident with Marshall, who had now reluctantly stepped aside and seemed to have regained his composure. “Do not go against your mother, young lady, or…”

“Or what? You’ll hit me again? I don’t think any of them will let that happen,” you said, gesturing around you at the guys. “And I don’t think I will, either. I’m not going anywhere. I belong here.”

“You belong with your family,” your father snarled.

“I believe I just said that.” Tears escaped your eyes as you said it.

“You’re truly choosing these creatures over your own flesh and blood?” your father inquired angrily.

“Oh they’re more my blood than you can possibly imagine.” And that was the precise moment all remaining bridges went up in flames. Had your mother been wearing pearls, she’d be clutching them, and your dad… The anger in his face disappeared, making room for a completely blank expression that carried more hatred than anything you’d ever seen before.

“You’re feeding them.” Not a question, very much an accusation. And a correct one at that. Your father didn’t need an answer. “We’re done here.”

“Dad…”

“You are no daughter of mine,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “I thought we could save you, but this sin will never be forgiven.”

They left quietly, leaving the five of you behind in your own bubble of deafening silence.

It took a while for you to speak. “Mike,” you whispered, “I’m going to get so totally unreasonably mad at you. I’m already sorry, and I won’t mean a word of whatever I’m about to say…”

“That’s okay, Sweetcheeks. Kinda deserve it.”

“I… you…” But whatever words you had planned on throwing at him got caught in your throat, and before you fully realized you were moving, you were on your way to your bedroom, where you dropped down on the bed, no longer able to fight back your tears.

Some time went by and the mattress dipped next to you, and two arms wrapped around you. Mike. Then again, and another pair of arms. Sherlock.

“Can we…”

“Get in here, both of you,” you grumbled. This bed was not big enough for all of you, but fuck that.

Marshall got in behind Mike, August behind Sherlock.

“Hm, this hasn’t happened in forty years,” Marshall mused as he squeezed both you and Mike close.

“What the hell happened in the eighties, damn,” you laughed.

“We could show you,” Mike said as he snuggled closer to you, suggestive eyebrow wiggle included.

“I have no problem with the cuddling, but if this turns into an orgy, I’m gone,” Sherlock warned half-jokingly.

They all laughed. Half-heartedly at first, but soon… the sound of them was genuine and deep and warm, like a blanket and a warm bath, all at the same time.

“Did I fall asleep?” It was getting dark outside, so you must have, right? Sherlock was still holding you, but Mike was gone. Apparently, Marshall had taken his place.

“You did, darling,” Sherlock answered. “How are you feeling?”

“Weird…” As was to be expected after such an intense break up with your parents. “Is it bad that I don’t feel as bad as I think I should feel? Where’s Mike?”

“He had to get out of the house. He feels guilty,” August said calmly.

“I couldn’t have bluffed my way out of this forever,” you sighed. “And I know they’re not going to change. I’m so sorry for everything they said about you.”

“I’d say we’ve heard worse, but… it was up there. For me, at least.” Mike. Standing in the doorway one moment, sitting at the foot of the bed the next. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t caught that cup…”

“Like I said, Mikey… I couldn’t have kept this from them. Even if this had gone over well, Katie would have told them eventually.” You reached for him, and he immediately took that to mean ‘please dive on top of me this instant, preferably face-first into my cleavage’. It did not mean that, but it was fine. More than fine, even. You ran a hand through his messy curls and smiled at your favorite idiot.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” You were fairly sure you’d never completely grow used to sweet August.

“Someone could explain to me what the hell was going on with” — you turned around so you were facing Marshall — “you… And then we can get to our movie night, maybe?” Mike immediately jumped up, mumbling something about snacks, and disappeared.

“Right, that…” Marshall said. “I can tell you, but I can also show you… I promise I won’t hurt you.”

With your curiosity thoroughly piqued, how could you refuse? You put your arm on the covers like he asked, and gasped in surprise when he ran a hand over it. Little… pricks, of some kind, stung your skin as he moved his hand. It felt like…

“Electricity?” you asked. Marshall nodded. “You tased my dad?”

“I suppose you could say that,” he responded calmly — maybe too calmly for someone who was admitting to electrocuting your father. “It’s not that dramatic, love.” Right. Mind reading. “As far as we know, I can manipulate existing electrical currents.”

“Can you turn the lights off?” you blurted out. They flickered for a moment, and he smiled at you. So, yes. He could.

“I don’t know how it works, just that it does,” he shrugged — for as far as possible when one is lying in bed, anyway.

A dirty smirk revealed he knew what you were thinking. “Pondering the possibilities, are we?” he said softly as he ran a hand over your arm again. The feeling raised goosebumps all over your arm. “We’ll continue that experiment at a time when it doesn’t make Sherlock insanely uncomfortable.”

“Sorry, Sherlock,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright, darling,” he replied. “We should join Mike, I think he’s done setting up.”

Marshall carried you to the living room and pulled you into his side as he sat down on the couch, while August put your feet in his lap. Mike, who just came back with a cup of tea for you, whined softly.

“Do you want attention?” you asked with a smile, already knowing what the answer would be. Mike nodded furiously. You gestured at the floor in front of the couch. “Come sit here. You’re staying with me tonight, okay?”

You’d asked the guys a million times if they weren’t uncomfortable on the floor, and they’d sworn they weren’t, but you still felt slightly awkward asking Mike to sit there. He hummed softly when you ran your fingers through his hair, and reluctantly reached for the remote.

“Movie?”

#mike hellraiser fic #mike hellraiser #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fanfiction #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #walter marshall #hc sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #august walker #august walker fanfiction #natural fic #naturalfic

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 09

One day, when I wake up at 3:00AM, unable to sleep, I will look next to me and you will be there, Sleeping peacefully beside me. And suddenly, the world won't seem so lonely.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Jimin/Yoongi focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.5k ⤑ warnings: implied smut, interrupted foreplay, heavy angst, oppression against mages, jimin as a warning himself tbh ⤑ note: surprise!! i took a few months off from writing this story to pursue other story ideas, but i ended up wanting to come back to this one lol. i have another story in the works, but i do plan to start posting semi-regularly for this series again soon ^^ i hope you guys enjoy! this takes place right after the final of pt 1.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

From the distance, the haunting, sonorous tolls of church bells ring in the hour for the sleeping town of New Haven.

Once. Twice. Three times.

3:00AM. The witching hour.

Monsters and magic are most active at this time of night. Their connection to the Veil – a realm of dreams and demons – is at its strongest peak, opening a window of chaos and mayhem and spilling them into the living world.

For mortals like Park Jimin, the witching hour is dangerous. Humans become prey to these abominations. Kidnapped and sacrificed, they become targets of dark magic, tortured for a mage’s sadistic greed and pleasure.

By law, those cursed with magic are condemned to their high towers and impenetrable castles. But there are some who’ve managed to escape their confinements. Who’ve garnered sympathy from fools they’ve bewitched, and who’ve hidden their unnatural powers to inconspicuously blend in with human villagers.

That’s when the hunters come in.

While the wardens are busy keeping the monsters locked away, allowing them to practice tricks and spells deemed safe by the Devoted, and silently killing them through deadly trials like the Harrowing, it’s the hunters that protect the towns and villages from mages outside their gilded prisons. People who, without law or regulation, take matters into their own hands when facing the Wicked.

History speaks of the war between humans and mages. The human sacrifices, the stolen blood of innocents, the dark summonings, the ominous hauntings, the deals with devils. Magic, after all, is the root of all evil.

And the latest of these horrendous acts is what happened at Blackstone Castle.

Several apprentices rebelled against the teachings of the Devoted and performed a forbidden summoning. The mutiny caused mages to attack the wardens, unleash creatures beyond nightmares into the mortal realm, and escape the castle’s defenses. The leader of the apostate group is rumored to have transformed into a hideous beast that the Warden-Commander had successfully defeated, but by the time the monster was slain, it was too late. Many mages have fled from Blackstone and found refuge in nearby villages, causing fear and suspicion to strike within the communities.

Any mage, surrounded by the temptations of the mortal realm, is a dangerous threat.

Two months ago, when news of Blackstone Castle hit the capital, there was no doubt in his mind what he must do: he had to return to his hometown in New Haven, make sure there aren’t any mages infiltrating his town, and eliminate the ones he finds.

With the key to his grandmother’s floral shop and the blessings of his family from the capital, Jimin returned to town, surprised to see not much had changed since he was last there.

Except for one thing.

The unnamed shop across the street.

The one odd place in town, full of mystery and wonder. What once was ruins and a disarray of abandonment is now warm and cozy with whimsy and comfort. Colorful and mix-mashed, yet in a way that works together. Like it was made of magic. 

And, to his dismay, the cutest shop owner he’s ever seen works there. One that he’s hopelessly fallen head-over-heels with. 

Even though he highly suspects that you are, ironically, the very thing he hunts down.

Jimin reminds himself of that as he sits back on a chair and faces the bed. Under the gleam of moonlight, the dagger in his hand shines. Embedded in the blade are ancient symbols of the Devoted. Once penetrated, it will render even the strongest mage useless, temporarily paralyzing them from using their powers as the effects of the enchanted markings sink in.

An heirloom and a prized possession of the Park family. One that his father used when he became a hero of the town. One that his grandfather used to kill the mage that murdered his parents. And now, one that belongs to him.

He flips the nullifying weapon in his hand over and over. Keeping it close to him, just in case.

In case you suddenly wake – snapping your eyes wide open, the colors of your pupils turning into an eerie, bright gold – and lunge toward him in inhuman speed. In case you levitate off the bed and hurl things flying in his direction. In case the devil’s mark sears red on your skin during the witching hour and turns you into one of them.

Wicked.

Like those corrupted mages – easily trading their souls for wealth, beauty, power, and fame – that the Devoted has warned them about. Like the ones he’s seen attack humans with their unnatural strength and twisted powers. Like the ones who had surely killed his parents.

After all, magic is the root of all things evil.

And you, a mage, are a monster. A human vessel that will inevitably succumb to the darkness and unleash chaos into the world with your cursed power.

His eyebrows furrow together and a deep frown is set on his plush lips

You – the most evil, dangerous, wicked thing to ever exist – continue to sleep soundly on his bed, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. The black dahlia – doused with potent lavender extract – is disposed of, but it’s already done its job. Keeping you unconscious. Keeping you vulnerable. Right where he wants you.

Time ticks on and Jimin tightens his grip on the dagger. He has to act, and he has to do it fast. He’s certain once the sleeping effect wears off, you’ll attack him.

One minute passes. Then, two. Then, three more.

Abruptly, Jimin stands with the dagger at hand. The chair legs scoot back against the wooden floorboards as he steps closer to you, blinking away the drowsiness from the potent side-effects of the flower.

Was he wrong?

No, he’s certain you’re one of them. He’s certain that one or more of them in that shop are like you as well. Mages and monsters.

Yet, there’s no trace of a golden glow in your eyes. No objects suddenly falling out of shelves, no picture frames or doorknobs rattling, no unexplained knocks or whispers. No faded bite mark that a demon left as a claim on your skin.

His fingers barely touch your neck when you make a sound.

A moan.

Of someone’s name.

Jimin freezes, eyes wide as he looks at your sleeping face. He can’t be certain if you said his name or—

A chuckle of disbelief comes from his lips and he runs his fingers through his hair. This should be easy. Insultingly so.

Yet, Jimin finds himself sitting back on the chair and facing his bed for the fourth time that night. He’s had that dagger in his hand since you fell asleep hours ago. He has every intent to kill you and the others in that shop.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he silently takes you in. The distinct features of your face that he likes, the way your lips part slightly as you sleep, the slow sound of your breath and the way your eyelashes touch the top of your cheeks. The way the moonlight is cast upon your bare skin, almost making you look ethereal in the night. 

He thinks about earlier that afternoon, when you came to his shop, picking flowers to lay out a message of apology and confession. He thinks about the genuine surprise in your face when he admits that he loves you too, that you already have his heart. He thinks about how he meant what he said too.

And as the shop closes and the afternoon rolls into evening, he thinks about his hand in yours as he leads you upstairs to his room. He thinks about your shy giggles when he kisses your neck, your collarbone, and the top of your breasts until you start to remove your clothes for him. And as Jimin takes in your body, he whispers that you’re beautiful without realizing the words came out of his mouth.

This should’ve been easy. If he had known you were a mage sooner, before he caught any feelings for you, perhaps this would have been different. 

But tonight, Jimin sheaths the enchanted dagger and lets you live for one more night.

Your dreams. They always start like this.

High walls of a strong, impenetrable fortress made of dark brick and stone. Willow trees in the courtyard, and a prism of sunlight peeking through the weeping, green leaves. Rows of old books stacked together on long shelves with worn bindings and stain-aged pages. Faceless apprentices in uniformed robes, passing through the candle-lit hallways from one lecture to another, their disembodied voices echoing down the long passageways. Plated armor and concealed weapons of guards that look down at you with disdain.

Blackstone Castle.

Once upon a time, that place was all you’ve ever known. An institution where you’ve excelled too well in the classroom lessons and teachings. Where your exposure to the outside world is limited through words on paper and stories from fellow apprentices of what they could remember before coming to the castle. A so-called home where you had the promising future of becoming one of the best enchanters among your peers.

You lean back against your chair in the lecture room. Notes in your handwriting are on the desk, detailed with whatever you thought is important to note. You tilt your head, frowning a bit in confusion as your hand continues to write.

You’re … actually not sure what you’re taking notes on. The longer you look at the scribbled words, the more ineligible they appear.

The sound of giggling catches your attention. When you glance at the source of the noise, you drop the quill in shock.

Mina?

At the back of the lecture room, Hoseok and your old roommate are snuggled together. Neither of them are paying attention to the lesson, shamelessly making out and touching each other through their clothes. You see her running her hand through his hair and tugging him closer as their tongues slip in each other’s mouths. Although they’re sitting a bit far, you could hear Hoseok as if he’s right next to you. You hear him tell her, “It should’ve been you that made it out of the Harrowing instead.”

“Hoseok?” you utter, your voice pathetically soft. Why would he say that?

When you finally force yourself to look away, Namjoon stands before you. No longer are you in a lecture room, but at the library. His face is completely neutral. Guarded. He asks you, “What is it that you want?”

“I just…” you begin, but before you could answer, he pushes you down on the table.

“I’m not your boyfriend. I couldn’t care less about what we are,” Namjoon tells you as he pins you down. His hand flips up the end of your dress. “There’s only one thing I want from you.”

When you exhale, it’s shaky. Like you’re trying not to sob.

Before anything happens, Namjoon is shoved away. When you turn around, you’re in the ritual room. Seokjin has his hands full, fighting beastly creatures from the Veil with a sword and shield. He shouts for your help, and it takes you a moment to process that you’re in the middle of a battle.

You need a weapon.

The tower rumbles and debris falls from the ceiling. Your heart races as you look through the rubble for a wand, a tome, anything to help Seokjin.

But you’re too late.

An anguish scream cuts you deeper than any blade. Panic and fear seizes your entire body as you watch him slump to the ground. The battlefield is deathly quiet, and you’re sitting there, alone, cradling his head on your lap and crying apologies for what feels like hours.

“Scary.”

Through your tears, you see one other person standing in the distance. You sniffle when you recognize who it is. “Jungkook?”

“You did that to him,” Jimin says from the other side of the room, opposite of where Jungkook is. “You couldn’t save him. This is your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“Scary,” Jungkook repeats, both of them looking at you like you’re something evil. Black smoke swallows them whole, thick as clouds. It takes over the room, Seokjin, and eventually, it takes over you as well.

But once it clears, you find yourself in a séance room. Taehyung sits across from you in a black and gold cloak and a crown on his head. He shuffles tarot cards and asks you the same thing Namjoon does. “What is it that you want?”

“Love,” you answer. Exhausted. Heartbroken.

You don’t want to be seen as a monster. You don’t want to have these doubts. These insecurities. This nightmare.

He sets down one card in front of you. The Reversed Hermit.

Betrayal. Isolation. Paranoia.

As it sinks in, you realize that Taehyung has disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Truly, you are alone again.

You’re not sure how long you sit there in the deafening silence. Wax melts from the candlesticks as the fire burns down the wick. The shadows in the room stretch longer, surrounding you in darkness. But the thoughts in your head are loud, calling you loveless, weak, incompetent, never enough.

Suddenly, you hear music playing. A soft, faint melody from a piano.

You don’t want to be here anymore, so you run toward the sound. A sense of déjà vu hits you as you exit the séance room and find yourself in a long, dimly-lit hallway full of identical doors. Just like your Harrowing, each door you enter leads you to the same hallway over and over and over and over. Despite how gentle the music sounds, you feel desperate to reach it. To see him.

Relief washes over you when you finally do.

In the domain where you first saw him, Yoongi stands behind a piano, dressed head to toe in all black with silver jewelry. One hand presses the black and white keys of the grand instrument, absently playing a tune you vaguely recognized. One he’s certain would bring you right to him.

He glances at you expectantly. A faint smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

Without hesitation, you run toward him, lost and then found. Grief, fear, doubt, and anxiety melt away the moment you’re in his arms. “Yoongi!”

Your familiar pulls you close, brushing his lips against your hair, just as a sharp sting claws into your inner thigh. You whimper and gasp from the pain, squirming in his arms, but Yoongi grabs your jaw and continues to kiss you like nothing is happening.

When the pain subsides, Yoongi finally lets you go. You back away from him, breathing hard, and finally, you notice the golden color in his eyes. He doesn’t move as he peers down on you, lips tugging a bit with an arrogant smirk.

Hesitantly, you lift the bottom of your dress to look at your thigh. A strange, red mark is visible on the skin.

Yoongi merely tilts his head and reminds you, “You’re mine.”

A loud wail is what wakes Jimin from his sleep. His body jerks in reaction, and before he realizes it, he’s tumbling off the chair and onto the wooden floor.

As clumsy as he is, this isn’t unusual for him. He is, however, surprised to see your black cat glowering down at him. Its tail swishes back and forth slowly as an annoyed grumble comes from its chest.

“Sorry,” you apologize, holding a blanket over your body with one hand and shutting the window with the other. “He was crying outside.”

Jimin blinks slowly at you, and then turns his attention back to the cat, who continues to glare down at him. He squints back and whispers, “Isn’t it too early in the morning to be a menace?”

Yoongi gives a grunt of a meow. As if Jimin should’ve known better than to question it.

“I should get going anyway,” you tell him, your voice soft and sad. If Jimin wasn’t wide awake before, he certainly is now. He pushes himself up and sees the redness in your eyes and face. You’ve been crying. “I didn’t mean to stay overnight.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jimin gently asks, jumping to his feet. He starts to approach you, but stops himself. His eyes linger at the blanket you have loosely around you, and how, somehow, you’re even more beautiful to him in the daylight. 

You peek at him with wet eyes. Even now, there’s not a trace of wickedness in them at all. “I’m okay. Bad dream.”

Yoongi meows and rubs himself against your legs, trying to comfort you. A wry smile touches your lips as you bend down to pet him, quietly assuring him again that you’re okay. It feels like this is something that happens every now and then.

When the connection between you and the Veil are the strongest.

It’s subtle, but it’s still proof that Jimin isn’t wrong about what you are after all. He’s never been to a Harrowing, and he knows very little about the Veil itself, but mages leave their physical forms behind to enter that dream-like realm. In order to seek truths, gain knowledge, enhance their skills, and meet both good and evil spirits that reside in that world. It shouldn’t surprise him that mages that fall into a deep sleep during the witching hour could be affected by the Veil.

Jimin crouches down to meet your eye-level. There’s a pleasant smile on his lips as he reaches over to rub your back. “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

You feel good after a long sleep, a good cry, and dipping into the warm water of a bath. The others at the shop are worried about you, even though you’re just across the street. Yoongi tells you as much as he helps you wash up.

“I know. I meant to go home last night.”

Your memory is a bit fuzzy, but that much, you know, is true. Sometimes, when it feels like you’re dreaming in the Veil, it’s hard to distinguish reality and dreams. You look at your thigh, where you envisioned the devil’s mark to be, and see nothing out of the ordinary on your skin.

He doesn’t say anything as he continues to rub soap on your back and shoulders. It feels nice. You start to lean in on his touch and sigh with content. Then, he asks, “Did anything happen?”

“Other than the obvious? No. I just fell asleep,” you answer, almost certain that there isn’t more to the story. Wake pulled you out of sleep as gently as the nightmare ended, and as you laid on Jimin’s bed, you were overwhelmed with emotion. Every detail, every word from your dream, you remember it. But through the tears in your eyes, you saw Jimin sleeping on a single, uncomfortable chair, facing you and dressed in his clothes from the night before. He had let you sleep on his bed throughout the night, watched over you, and kept you safe. And somehow, just seeing Jimin there with you after a terrible nightmare only reassured you that you were okay. That a dream was just a dream. “I really like him, Yoongi.”

“I know you do,” is all he says. You don’t need to face him to know that he isn’t entirely happy with it. “I just want you to be careful around him.”

“I will, Yoongi. You don’t need to worry about me.”

It isn’t long until you’re out of the bath and dressed up. The two of you are relatively silent as you face a mirror and use magic to fix your hair. Then, Yoongi asks, “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

You glance at him from the reflection. He’s dressed in black clothing and silver jewelry, just as you imagined him. His eyes, however, are normal. Dark, inquisitive, and gentle. Unlike the haunting yellow from your nightmare.

“No. Not yet,” you reply, your hand twitching as you try not to touch your thigh. There’s no pain and no strange mark, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamed of it. The mark that Yoongi mentioned once in passing to further strengthen a bond between a mage and their familiar. “Soon, though.”

You’d think those kinds of dreams would’ve stopped by now, especially after hearing from the boys themselves that they loved you. It feels silly to even question it when it’s obvious that they do. Yet, the same dreams keep occurring over and over, filling your mind with doubt and insecurity.

“Okay.” Yoongi stands next to you as you finish getting ready. “You look nice today.”

You grin at him, a little shy from the compliment, but tease, “Are you saying that I look bad other days?”

“You look nice every day,” he corrects with a shy kiss on your cheek. Then, before you could retort, he’s back into his cat form. You smile at him lovingly and hold him in your arms, feeling the rumble of his purrs vibrate from his body.

Downstairs, Jimin finds himself in a bit of a dilemma.

He has nothing to eat for breakfast.

Work has him traveling out of the shop often, delivering bouquets to customers, picking up new supplies and flowers, and even stopping by local guilds to pick up any magic-related reports to take up. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s rarely home to stock up on his personal pantry.

He’s still rummaging around for something when you finally come down with Yoongi in your arms. “Jimin?”

“I’m back here!” he shouts, grabbing pieces of stale bread and a half-empty jar of strawberry jam. This will have to do for now, he supposes, though it clearly isn’t enough for both of you. When you enter the back room, he tries to bite into the hard, jam-coated piece of bread and asks, “Breakfast?”

“I think I’m good,” you tell him, looking around. It’s notably empty, you realize, as you turn your attention back to his plate. “Is that all you’re having?”

“Maybe it’s a better idea that we eat out,” Jimin agrees, pushing the half-bitten bread aside. He isn’t hungry for that anyway. If it were up to him, he’d take you right back upstairs and have you stay with him a little longer.

He takes a quick glance at the cat in your arms, who seems to hold a steady glare at him. As if daring Jimin to make a move on you while he’s around.

You smile at him. “I know a place we can go.”

Across the street, the aroma of baked bread and brewed coffee welcomes you into the little shop. Seokjin is up bright and early, humming quietly to himself as he carefully puts pastries on a display case. Hoseok pours coffee into several mugs and adds cream and sugar to everyone’s preferred taste. Namjoon is doing an inventory check with Taehyung and Jungkook, writing down what he needs to shop for when he goes to the market later that morning. But as soon as the bell chimes from the front door and you step through the threshold, a sweeter welcome awaits you.

“You’re home!” Taehyung exclaims with a big, boxy smile and pulls you and Yoongi into a tight hug. The cat meows in protest in your arms, but it’s muffled when Jungkook giggles and joins in the group hug as well.

“We were worried about you, pretty girl,” Hoseok comments, holding two mugs for you and Yoongi in his hands, though he seems relieved to see you.

“Yeah, you didn’t come home last night,” Namjoon agrees as he and Seokjin come into the entrance together.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Jimin says from behind you. He steps into the shop with a sheepish smile on his face, seeing that he’s faced with the very over-protective men you live with.

Seokjin scoffs under his breath. “That explains a lot.”

“Is it okay if he stays for breakfast?” you ask them, hopeful. There’s a bit of hesitance, as if they’re not really sure what to make of you and Jimin still.

“Yeah, why not? The more the merrier,” Namjoon quotes with a shrug.

Your heart feels warm at their acceptance. Seeing the boys all together in one room, all seven of them, it feels right. It feels complete.

Both Hoseok and Namjoon look at you with so much care in their eyes, scolding you lightly for making them worry. Seokjin smiles at you, alive and well, before he takes Yoongi from your arms to help him in the kitchen. Taehyung and Jungkook refuse to leave your side, still keeping you in their hold until Seokjin bats them away.

If this is all a dream, it’s the cruelest one yet.

Hoseok hands you your coffee and smiles brightly at their guest. “I’ll get another mug. Do you like cream and sugar in your coffee, Jimin?”

Breakfast goes surprisingly well. Laid out on the table are sunny-side eggs, crispy pork belly, toasted bread with butter and jam, a bowl of fresh fruits, vegetable pancakes, and leftover stew from the night before. It’s a feast compared to what Jimin tried to eat at his own shop earlier that morning.

Everyone sits together on the long table, happily chatting and eating. Hoseok feeds Taehyung and Jungkook food from his plate before he eats himself. Seokjin tries to fish for compliments from you and Namjoon for working so hard in the kitchen. Even Yoongi – who strangely appears when the cat disappears – takes a seat beside you and immediately reaches into the fruit bowl for tangerines. 

It’s a little strange, but Jimin seems to fit in really well. Both Hoseok and Taehyung include him in their conversations, asking him what his opinions are about if tigers or bears are the superior animal or the types of cool dances that they’ve seen at the town square. Namjoon and Seokjin make him laugh at their witty banter, and how they bring out the goofiest sides of each other. Even Jungkook is excitedly clapping his hands and giggling at their antics before cutely asking Jimin if there’s any pork belly left on his side of the table. And while he’s certain that Yoongi hates him, he’s surprised when he is offered a piece of his peeled tangerine.

There’s a sense of belonging that Jimin can’t really describe when he’s around you guys. Something that he hasn’t really felt anywhere else.

It’s a stark difference to when he returns to his lonely flower shop afterwards.

Floral fragrances greet him as he walks in the door instead of the aroma of baked good and brewed coffee. There’s a notable silence that fills the room when there aren’t any customers around, unlike at the lively shop across the street, where there’s always music playing and people talking. It feels cold and empty, far from the warm and homey feelings of yours.

Running a shop by himself keeps him busy. It’s hard work and long days, but he likes the smile on people’s faces when they find exactly what they’re looking for, or when he delivers things he’s made to his customers.

Today isn’t any different. Except, it is.

Because just across the street, you’re there. He can see you welcoming curious people inside, checking on the plants outside the shop that Jimin helped you garden with a raven perched on your shoulder, going to the market as Namjoon holds your waist and Jungkook holds your hand, and coming back to the shop less than an hour later and being showered with affectionate greetings from the others upon your return.

Because Jimin can’t stop thinking about how you and the others across the street are supposed to be wicked, evil, vile creatures that feast on the blood of innocents and animal sacrifices instead of tangerines, coffee, and bread. That you must’ve bewitched humans to do your bidding, even though it clearly seems that Seokjin has a mind of his own and wants to be with you all. That you’d use your power to bring chaos and destruction to the world instead of love and comfort in your shop.

Because Jimin realizes that he can’t kill you because he loves you. Even though he shouldn’t. Even though it’s his job to eradicate people like you from his town. 

Yet, here he is, thinking about how concerned he was when you woke up crying. How troubled he felt when he wasn’t able to make breakfast for you. The way he felt a bit nervous entering your shop and facing your other lovers. How they all tried to make him feel welcomed anyway, even if there’s some uncertainty with how they feel toward him. How the morning after with you was nice until he had to return to his shop alone.

The enchanted dagger upstairs is locked away in his room, waiting to be used. Eager for that next opportunity when you’re alone with him. But Jimin, who watches you from his shop’s window with a forlorn sadness, wants to keep you with him a little longer.

And that, truly, is a problem.

“We need to talk.”

Your heart stutters nervously at the words. Silently, you exchange looks with Seokjin, who is washing dirty dishes next to you. But you know why Namjoon is suddenly summoning you all for a family meeting.

At the market, you noticed it. You’re certain Namjoon and Jungkook did too with the way they tightened their hold around you.

In the town square, they were there.

Hunters.

Many of them are talking about Blackstone Castle and the mages that have escaped. They’re asking townsfolk if they’ve noticed anything suspicious, advising people to stay indoors at night, taking notes of any clues they find through their investigations. The three of you manage to avoid them on the way to the market, but it’s clear that their very presence is a threat: the hunters are here, and they’re looking for you.

“It’s too dangerous now,” Seokjin whispers, worried. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as you sit beside him. “We’ll be safer if we get out of town.”

“Where would we go?” Namjoon questions, a bit frustrated. You can tell he’s trying not to raise his voice. “This is our home. We’ve just started to settle down.”

“All the rooms aren’t filled yet,” Taehyung points out as his eyes lock with yours. He’s been certain that Jimin is the last one. That the final room in the shop belongs to him.

Jungkook sighs heavily. “What do we do?”

Running away isn’t an option. You guys already did that, and you don’t want to leave this place behind. Fighting them would only bring more unwanted attention toward you and the shop. Even you’re a bit stumped with what to do next.

“More and more of those hunters are coming into the town,” Hoseok says with a frown. “We have to be careful. We have to look out for each other.”

Namjoon nods his head. “Just as we always do.”

Yoongi catches your eye this time. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

The others look at you as well. Yoongi doesn’t have to say his name for you to know who he’s talking about. You’re the one who knows Jimin the most. They trust your judgment, despite any divination readings Taehyung has on him.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “I trust him.”

By the late afternoon, as things begin to wind down, you return to the flower shop with containers of food from your shop. “I don’t know if you ate your dinner already, but we made these for you.”

He smiles fondly at you, touched by the sweet gesture as he takes the containers from you. “Thank you, baby. I’ll eat it well.”

As he leaves to put the food away in the back for later, you take a walk around. His shop is empty of customers. Various flowers in full bloom sit prettily on display in arrangements and in pots. Everything is beautiful and pleasing to look at.

Though, you notice that there aren't really any personal touches in Jimin’s shop at all. No family pictures, despite his father being a hometown hero or that his grandmother had owned this shop prior. No food that he keeps in stock with favorite dishes and snacks. Even his bedroom feels minimalistic compared to what you’re used to at one of the boys’ rooms. 

If he ever decides to live with you, in that empty room on the second floor, what would his room look like? Would it be like this shop? Would it be something different?

As you lose yourself to your train of thoughts, you nearly trip over something.

A bucket of lavenders.

It sits innocently near a painted cart among other buckets of bouquets. Its calming fragrance is masked by the other floral scents in the shop. But it makes you back away from it as if you just saw something truly horrifying.

Arms suddenly wrap around your midsection and pull you into their chest. You nearly scream, wiggling to get free, until you hear Jimin’s infectious laughter behind you. “What’s wrong? Did I scare you?”

“Yes! How dare you!” you playfully shout, relieved it’s just him. He chuckles and starts to kiss your cheek and neck in apology. His lips feel soft against your skin, and your hand reaches back to touch his neck, turning a bit to kiss him back.

It’s easy to be swept up in him. To get lost in the heat of the moment and not think about anything or anyone else. To push your worries about bad dreams, hunters, and the other boys aside and just melt in his arms. You trust him. You know you can.

But something is bothering you. His mouth moves away from your lips to kiss your jaw and the spot just below your ear, and as you turn your head and sigh in content, you notice the bucket of lavenders again. 

“Stay tonight?” he asks against your skin, eyes hazy with lust. 

You’re tempted. But you answer, “I can’t, Jimin. Not tonight.”

With the hunters in town, you have to make sure that the shop is safe. Hoseok and Namjoon have prepared to sage the entire shop to ward off any harmful intentions to you and your family. And you need to cast added protection spells on the doors and windows so that your shop won’t be easy for them to find.

He hums but places another kiss on your face. “We got a bit carried away last night, didn’t we?”

You glance away from the lavenders and meet his gaze. Again, you remind yourself that you love this man. You can trust him.

“Jimin, about last night…” you begin. His smile fades a little as he arches an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. “Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m having a hard time remembering how the night ended.”

No matter how hard you try, you can’t remember how you ended up falling asleep in Jimin’s room. The last thing you remember is telling him you had to go back home. That Yoongi would be upset, and Jimin said—

“You just fell asleep, babe. Nothing happened.”

“I see.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It's not that,” you tell him, not sure how to state this without sounding accusatory. You glance over at the lavenders again and quietly admit, “I just feel like I’m missing something. I don’t know. Did… Did something more happen?”

His hands cup your face, warm and a bit calloused. They contract a bit with the cold, silver rings around his fingers.

“What makes you think I’d do something to hurt you?” he questions, trying to sound a bit offended. But for a split second, you could’ve sworn he almost looked amused.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes flutter close as he tilts your face up, greeting you with soft kisses again. His thumb gently caresses your cheeks, hands slowly gliding down your neck, fingers tracing your collarbone. Despite the light touches, your heart pounds hard in your chest, and you feel yourself chasing after his lips. 

“Should I remind you then? About last night?” he asks, nose bumping against yours and a hand against the back of your neck.

“I can’t stay,” you remind him, eyes fluttering close. But his lips feel so full and soft when he kisses you. Each kiss entices you for more, and he chuckles when he feels you tug on his bottom lip.

“Then should we stop?”

He pulls away from you a bit, teasing you, but you don’t allow him. Your arms wrap around his neck as you needily answer, “No. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” Jimin praises and rewards you with another heated kiss. You could only moan in agreement, far too distracted to pay attention to anything but the way his tongue slips into your mouth or the way his touch warms your skin, igniting memories of last night with the way his hands roam your body.

With Jimin, it feels easy to love. It feels easy to simply be. Whether as friends, lovers, or something else you can’t quite place, it feels easy to get caught up in the moment with him. Without overthinking of what this all means, without the worry of what you are to him, without caring when the dream ends.

Your back hits the counter, but it doesn’t break the kiss. He feels you over your clothes, and your hands tug him closer.

“Jimin…” you gasp, panting hard when he finally pulls away. He spins you around so your back is against his chest again. Vaguely, through the lust-filled haze, you’re reminded of the night before.

Visiting the flower shop, an apology and a confession, a night spent together. You were trying to get home. Yoongi was upset. The tattoo on Jimin’s chest. A black dahlia.

“Don’t think about it,” Jimin whispers against your skin. He starts to push you down over the counter. Had you been able to see his face, a chill would’ve run down your spine from the way he looks at you in that very moment – like a predator to prey. “Just trust me.”

The chime of a bell snaps both of you out of it.

“What the hell?” a last-minute customer exclaims, unable to open the door all the way to get through. As if, somehow, the door got stuck. “Jimin? Are you there?”

Immediately, Jimin backs off and clears his throat.

“Yes, I’ll be right with you!” he answers, running his fingers through his hair. He stands over you for a moment, protectively shielding you from anyone coming in. When he glances over at you, however, you’re already smoothing over the front of your clothes. Your face is a bit flustered, but not a single hair is out of place. “Are you okay, love?”

“I’m fine, Jimin. I should get going anyway,” you tell him bashfully. He kisses you one last time before he finally lets you go.

With ease, you pull open the front door as the customer nearly stumbles inside. 

When you look back at Jimin, he seems to be staring at you and the door curiously. Then, his eyes lock with yours, and he gives you that same, knowing smile from last night.

The kind of smile where he knows something you don’t. A secret he isn’t meant to find out.

And it dawns to you, just then, that his smile was the last thing you saw yesterday before your world turned black.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

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#magic shop series #jimin x reader #yoongi x reader #seokjin x reader #taehyung x reader #namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #hoseok x reader #bts au #bts fantasy au #bts magic au #bts witch au #bts fanfic #jimin smut

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Oh. My. Gosh. Can we get more of the Body Swap AU? I gotta know who else is swapped. My guess so far, Mirabel is Antonio and Julieta is Alma because I like the idea of everyone swapping and we all know Alma likes to pretend everything is fine so obviously she'd pretend to be whoever she body swapped with. A fun idea would be if everyone was swapped based on their favorite person, Luisa's favorite is Mirabel, Mirabel's favorite is Antonio, and Alma favoring Julieta isn't surprising at all. In that case, Pepa and Julieta would be their husbands, Bruno would be Pepa (wedding fiasco aside I like to think they are quite close due to both having less than ideal gifts), Agustin would be Luisa, Felix would be Dolores, Isabela would be Alma, Dolores would be Isabela, Camilo would be Bruno, and Antonio would be Camilo. Oh the chaos that would ensue, imagine, Dolores finally getting out of Isabela's shadow by getting to BE Isabela, and poor Mariano would be so confused why his ex that admitted she never loved him is now giving him goo goo eyes, Felix deciding to be an overprotective dad and testing Mariano by doing weird things as Dolores to see if he'll still love her, Isabela getting shoved into the leader position and trying to maintain her sanity and keep the town from falling apart, Camilo being the most dramatic creepy prophet he can be while Bruno cringes in the background with a cloud over his head, poor Agustin being ten times as clumsy due to his new size, Mirabel relishing in the fact that she has a gift and absolutely using Antonio's cuteness to her advantage, Pepa finally being free to express her emotions without her gift, her and Julieta taking turns staring at the mirror because dang are their husbands good looking, Alma taking over Julieta's job as healer and experiencing first hand all the work her daughter does and all the stupid and minor injuries people go to her stand for. The possibilities are endless.

Sure, why not? Let’s make this a full AU!

Yes, everyone (minus the husbands as they aren’t linked to the miracle) is swapped but I’m afraid your guesses are mostly wrong. But the favourite idea is fairly right.

Luisa obviously being Mirabel, both favourite sister and person in the family.

Mirabel woke up as Dolores (her favourite cousin), in bed with Mariano, and as you can imagine, completely freaked out. Probably burst her eardrums. So that’s what she’s been to up to while Luisa does whatever she’s doing.

Bruno is Antonio (his favourite of the nieces and nephews). He was very spooked. He had his suspicions, but Luisa showing up confirmed that something had definitely happened, seeing how she clearly wasn’t Mirabel and addressed him as Antonio.

Alma is Bruno (her favourite child) and is going to have a day in his shoes. She’s going to throw hands with some rude townspeople later who still treat Bruno like a bad person.

Dolores is Julieta (her favourite of the aunt/uncles), who has realised but because of her love for being right, is just going along with it. Can’t risk being wrong. She also woke from the sound of “Antonio” crying.

Camilo is Pepa (his favourite person). He initially thinks this will be breeze and isn’t as worried/scared as the others, but slowly comes to the realisation that his mother isn’t treated with the same respect he gives her by everyone else.

Isabela, plot twist, is Luisa. She’s a little embarrassed by it and claims she is only Luisa because Luisa got to be Mirabel. In actuality, she’s very pleased. Think of all the chaos she could cause—

Pepa is Isabela (her favourite niece). She will also be throwing hands later at rude-ass men who can’t accept the fact that Isabela is a lesbian.

Antonio is Camilo (his favourite sibling and babysitter). You did get that one right! He doesn’t really have much angst going on, he just has a fun day as his older brother and enjoys getting to be grown up for a bit.

And lastly, Julieta is Alma. She does try to pretend that everything is fine. She proves to not be the best matriarch, she does more mothering of the council than actually leading the town.

#encanto #ask me anything #encanto bodyswap au #isabela madrigal #mirabel madrigal #luisa madrigal #dolores madrigal #camilo madrigal #antonio madrigal #julieta madrigal #pepa madrigal #bruno madrigal #alma madrigal

[sourbinnie]

♕ cicuta.mp3 ♕

-> genre : non!idol au | angst | smut | fluff | all of it one bowl

-> pair : ot8!skz x fem!reader

-> warnings : this teaser contains mentions of smoking, swearing and cheating (mentioned).

-> plot : so how did you end up surrounded by the biggest rappers from the underground seoul scene? your brother was making it big (even if your parents didn't believe that was a real job) and you decided to join him at one of the finals to see him. let's say that's where it all went downhill…

-> appeareances from other idols, stay tuned!

a/n -> dude first fanfic ever in kpop world. i'm gonna try to update it whenever i can but i feel like i'm gonna be writing often since i'm putting my heart and soul on this one, might be a bit weird, a lil too explicit at times and a lil messed up but it's my baby.

✘ intros ✘

♕ bangchan ♕

chan got into freestyle and battles when he was 14. he always found it his safe space to go to the park with friends and engage in it. now many years later he still is fond of competitions and likes to participate whenever a global event takes place, he easily became a pro and one of the most known rappers in the scene. he knows he changed, knows that his face tats and his sleeves aren't really who he was when he started. but he likes the new him, likes how it makes him feel and what it shows. 

✘ 1997

✘ sydney

✘ 7 wins (2 international)

♕ k-now ♕

minho didn't know how he fell in love with the scene, he just did. he wasn't that much into rap but after seeing so many battles, he started composing his lyrics and his need to be in competitions grew. at first he stumbled, he got made fun of but that only made him want to participate more. with time he got better and eventually as the man he stood today, he had 4 official wins in korea. his next goal was to make it through the international wave and he was so ready.

✘ 1998

✘ gimpo

✘ 4 wins

♕ changbin ♕

changbin is probably the biggest name you could hear. he grew from the underground scene all the way to the top, being the korean artist with the most international wins. he didn't think much of it though, he was a down to earth man who just enjoyed rapping and if he happened to win, he just accepted it. the public would be surprised if he didn't win but he would just accept it. he didn't crave the tournaments, it was the other way around. everyone just wanted to have a piece of him but he ain't offering. 

✘ 1999

✘ yongin

✘ 9 wins (4 international)

♕ hyun ♕

hyunjin just started his career. he used to be a watcher, a little kid watching his favorites fight it out and he knew he wanted to become a part of the scene and not stay in the crowd. now full of piercings, a bunch of tats and addiction to nicotine later, he was ready. he showed skill, he was promising was what the crowd thought and what he knew himself. he didn't have an ego problem (yes he did) but he knew he was good and would continue to smash it if they gave him a chance.

✘ 2000

✘ seoul

✘ 2 wins

♕ han ♕

jisung knew he was born with the gift of freestyle. not only was he a fan of rap and hip-hop but he would compose so many bars at such a young age, even his friends from school would ask him to rap for them. so it was obvious that when such a young boy joined the scene, only to kill it in every verse that it would cause such a huge impact. he didn't think that when he flew to new york, he would win his first international competition against bangchan. yet that was the best moment of his life and he did not regret a single bit.

✘ 2000

✘ incheon

✘ 6 wins (1 international)

♕ b.o.k ♕

felix was just starting to grow, his deep voice and calm aura were key to it. when he first arrived and saw what was happening on the parks, the way the crowd would act up with whoever was rapping, yeah needed to do that as well. he concentrated when the time would arrive and then would kill it slowly on the mic but it still wasn't enough to earn him wins. he needed to be more brutal, more threatening, have more courage, he had it in him at the end of the day. he needed to stop being afraid of fucking it up first though.

✘ 2000

✘ sydney

✘ 2 wins

♕ min ♕

seungmin wasn't caught up in the rap scene at first. he was always the one who would put the vocals in their tracks, doing the chorus now and again but he got tired of it. he knew he had the lyrics to make it work so why not give it a try? needless to say that his fans absolutely loved the change. he was really well known already but as soon as he started the competitions, there was a shift to how he would act. let's stay he wasn't that friendly anymore but the fans ate up that image so? who cares what anyone else thinks?

✘ 2000

✘ seoul

✘ 3 wins

♕ i.n ♕

jeongin learned what he knew from changbin. he looked up to him in a way he couldn't explain and his hyung taught him everything he needed to know. of course this brought a lot of bars against him in competitions but he would respond in such an effective way that no one dared to fight back. he wasn't covered in tattoos like changbin or had an intimidating voice like felix, but boy did he rap fast. he's got the flow, he's got the skills, he just needs the wins now and as the scene gets tighter, he knew he had to make it out.

✘ 2001

✘ busan

✘ 2 wins

✘ teaser ✘

"so you're mingi's sister?" bangchan asked or at least that's what i thought his name was. can you blame me? i'm not familiar and this is my first time here. i couldn't say though that i wasn't intrigued and a bit intimidated because he had a weird aura about him (or it's probably the face tattoos).

"yeah, it's the first time i'm seeing him compete." i said as i looked around because i thought he was right behind me but i lost track of him. i sighed as he probably got distracted with the first thing he saw or the first person he came across. "i don't know much about rap competitions though but i heard my brother and he's pretty good."

"oh yeah he's incredible. he was in the same group as wooyoung and hongjoong, they killed it in the scene back in the day. wow i'm sounding old as fuck." he said as he crossed his arms and i got a peek at the different designs that were covering him. "oh i'm chan by the way, kind obvious since that's almost my stage name but yeah whatever."

"i'm (y/n), nice to meet you." i said with a smile and he smiled back, damn dimples okay. not like i had a thing for dimples and tats at all, nope. it was easy to lie to myself but i needed to pull myself together, this was my brother's friend at the end of the day. 

"already flirting with someone? you've got a girlfriend christopher." another guy said as he approached us, oh my god more tattoos kill me now. but now i knew that chan was off limits and i would stick to being good, not gonna get involved in a cheating scandal, that's not me!

"shut the fuck up! this is mingi's sister dumbass." chan said and the other dude made the most shocked expression. okay so mingi did not talk about me at all which was good and bad, good because i did not like to be mentioned around but also if i knew it was full of guys like these, i would've liked them to know my existence. then again it wouldn't have been good because i would constantly be thrown around in verses.

"oh shit, hi i'm changbin. you probably heard of me because i'm wooyoung's best friend and he's very close to mingi." he said and of fucking course, how did i not recognize him? dude is practically one of the best rappers in korea. the fact that i was standing by two people that were masters of not only this scene but of music was huge to me and the fact that they were nice just made it better. 

"hi, yeah wooyoung is at my house a lot. please come pick him up, he practically lives there." i said, rolling my eyes, which caused them to laugh and god what a beautiful sound. no, boundaries (y/n) please, stay true to yourself and don't fall for the man with tats again. 

"(y/n) what are you doing with these old men? oh wait never mind, i'm older than bin by two days." he said as he got close to you and greeted chan and changbin with a smile. "i didn't expect you two here and it seems like you met my sister." 

"well changbin obviously came by to support jeongin since you're competing with him today. i have no idea what i'm doing here man, i practically live here." chan said, lighting up a cigarette which i found kinda odd since we were backstage and not outside but i was guessing no one really cared about that shit here.

"dude is a freestyle ancient, he has to be in all competitions." changbin said which earned him a punch in the shoulder from chan and a laugh from mingi and myself. "but yeah i gotta support my boy but i wish you the best as well."

"thank you man, really appreciate it." mingi said and looked at me, giving me a little smile which i gave him back as i hugged him. "gotta go on stage, don't drift too far away and fucking pray that i win."

"duh dumbass, that's why i came here!" i said smiling and giving him a pat on the back as he went out, all the lights focusing on him and the so-called jeongin or i.n. also there were the judges who were mostly composed from ex freestylers, rappers and previous winners. 

"let's get this show started." changbin said and chan just nodded as he looked at the screen but then he looked back. 

he gave me a wink and of fucking course i blushed. yeah this wasn't going to end well for me wasn't it?

#sourbinnie #skz fics #skz fanfics #skz au #skz aus #skz x you #skz x reader #skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz teaser #ot8 x reader #stray kids ot8 #skz ot8 #ot8 x you #skz x female reader

[kithtaehyung]

racchanel (m) (teaser) | kth

but the thing about vengeance is...

title: racchanel (m) | ⟶ small teaser for tae day 2022! pairing: fashion ceo!taehyung x ex-photographer!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; fashion au , ? to lovers summary: you were shut out from the industry before. so when an ex-classmate surprises you with another way in, you have no choice but to accept. determined to destroy the one that took everything, you’ll do whatever it takes - even if that means starting over and knowing nothing. warnings: none for teaser except taehyung being.. well, tae. full list will include explicit scenes, angst but are we shocked?, language, revenge, sexual themes, angst, this tae in general tbh, did i mention angst?, warnings will be posted with each chapter. note: so this is the secret wip that i had been holding onto for the entire year!! hope you all enjoy the snippet i have prepared for tae day 2022 because it’s but a taste of what’s to come. definitely one of the pieces i’m super excited to release in 2023! note 2: this teaser drops you in the middle of the first part! teaser word count: 2.3k | est. word count: 100k  est. drop date: ongoing series in 2023! 18+ taglist link: HERE

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The trek to the front entrance remains uneventful. 

Respecting Taehyung’s space, you release your arm from his suit just as the elevator kisses the ground floor. You don’t want anyone starting rumors about you messing around with the CEO before you even launch your career here. 

Career. 

Quite a bold word for you to throw around already. After all, the contract Taehyung offered is only temporary, not to mention strapped with an early termination clause. 

Essentially, you could be dropped at any point without so much as a warning. 

And you don’t expect anything less brutal than that.

When you pass reception, you spare the boys from earlier a glance—much against your better judgment. 

They promptly avert their gazes. Typical. 

A huff leaves you before your eyes focus back on the glass doors. 

“What did you do to them,” your ex-classmate questions before the panels slide open. 

“They were incredibly rude, Taehyung,” you inform, trailing behind and struggling to keep up with his strides. “I just told them to think about how they represented this company. You never know who’ll be walking through those doors.”

The man abruptly stops in front of you, causing you to physically halt on a tiptoe to save yourself from smacking into his back. Swiftly, you find your balance right as he pins you with… a leer?

“I don’t remember you being this nice,” is all he has to say. 

“Ah, well, nice is relative.” You look off into the property gardens, not wanting to face those feline eyes a second longer. “I don’t think your employees would exactly call me a saint.” 

A rueful laugh pops out of your chest, and you turn to look Taehyung dead in the eye. 

“And besides, we went to art school. When was anyone ever nice without some hidden motive?” 

Your former classmate can only blink. 

And blink again. 

“...We’re all screwed up in the head, aren’t we?” 

You offer him a tight smile in agreement before peering off again, taking in the immaculate way everything is laid out in front of Racchanel’s headquarters. 

The gardens could be an exhibition of their own. 

“Undoubtedly,” you finally respond. “But at least you made something of yourself. Most of us are starving artists, or bartenders at jazz joints.” 

The breeze cuts right through your sweats. Quickly slipping on your hood, you wonder if Taehyung really doesn’t care about being seen with you looking like this. His single spritz of cologne probably costs more than everything you’re wearing combined. 

You should head out now.

In the distance, you spot a long black limo rolling up to the sidewalk. 

“I think that’s you, Mr. CEO.” 

Taehyung looks at you a beat longer before turning to see his ride. 

When you expect him to leave without a goodbye, you stand there in confusion when he doesn’t budge. 

What’s he doing? There’s no way he’s not already late for that appearance. 

“Tae—”

Huh? Why’s he looking at you like that? 

…What storm do you see brewing on his horizon?

“Come with me.” 

“What?”

Immediately, your brows furrow impossibly close as he repeats himself,

“To the press conference. Come with me.” 

“I look like a hot pile of garbage—”

“It’s fine—”

“No. No way. Find someone else—”

“I don’t have anyone else.”

You still.

“At least,” he weakly clarifies. “Not right now.”

Before you can wholeheartedly shut him down a final time, you take in his appearance—actually take it all in. 

You aren’t in a dimly lit bar, or frantically thinking your contract offer was a mistake, so you’re finally seeing him with a clear head. 

And what you see is frankly alarming. 

Used to seeing this man radiating confidence on anything from cereal boxes to billboards across the globe, you’re suddenly dialed into the changes in his demeanor. Taehyung’s shoulders droop just enough, the spaces under his lashes hollow just enough. 

Why didn’t you see any of this before?

Reddened eyes from the bar on Christmas Eve come back to you, causing your mountain of excuses to crumble. 

He’s obviously under a lot of pressure from the recent changes in his life. And while change for you means a temporary six-month modeling contract, change to Taehyung means inheriting a multi-million dollar company—seemingly by himself. 

There’s nothing else but a desk. In his entire office.

He may feel… So alone. 

You remember that feeling. Loneliness. It’s dark, and cold, and in the end, you have to pull yourself out of its clutches all on your own. 

Maybe Taehyung can benefit from an extra set of hands. 

“Okay,” you agree, startling him out of a stupor. “I’ll go with you. I can hang in the back, or a hallway, or something.” 

A little flame flickers to life in his eyes as he offers a close-lipped smile. 

“Thank you,” is all he says in return. 

And you don’t make him say anything more than that. 

“Shit.” 

You stop playing with the leather surface of the space next to you. “What.”

It’s been like this the whole ride. Even though Taehyung begged you to accompany him, as soon as you were both settled in the back of the limousine, he seemed to be regretting the impulsive choice. 

As if the multiple times he rakes a hand through his hair aren’t enough of an indication, his chin rubs add on to your own anxiousness. 

He’s clearly uncomfortable with something. But what the hell is up?

Now his nerves seem to jump out in the form of another curse instead of clarification. Which annoys the heck out of you. 

“Taehyung, what’s wrong?” 

The man still doesn’t reply, let alone look your way. 

Maybe he’s not answering because the answer is way too obvious. 

Arriving at a press conference with some random woman in a bunny hoodie and sweats? Yeah. That would make any self-respecting person in fashion shake in their Chelsea boots.

This was a mistake.

What was he thinking? What were you thinking!

The trip to Racchanel was supposed to be a one and done! Tell Taehyung he made an error in the applications, have him verify it, and make your escape. 

But ending up in a limo on the way to a media event? You wouldn’t have been able to write this outcome if you tried. 

Sparing another glance at Taehyung, you realize he’s starting to get downright antsy. 

So you offer to help. “Hey. If you don’t want to be seen with me, I get it. Tell your driver to pull over before we get there and I can get out—” 

“Stop,” Taehyung bites, his expression hard. “Just…” He lowers his head in between his legs, large, ring-studded hands shielding the top of it from the world. His houndstooth coat cascades down his sides, and you want to save him from drowning in those black and white waterfalls. 

You didn’t really hang with him in university, but you always remembered him as the guy that didn’t have to try hard to succeed. He was never under any pressure, academically. 

Really, the only time you remember seeing him upset was when he went through a breakup one year. Kim Taehyung apparently held a grudge as well as he held a pose. 

Reaching out, you lay a hand on his shoulder. After his initial tense, he doesn’t shake you off, so you comfort the model superstar the only way you can think of. 

Tiny circles. Comforting, warm, tiny circles. 

You don’t know if they will work. But it’s something.

Slowly, Taehyung comes back to life like a plant sprouting from a seed. You retract your arm as he straightens against his seat, watching as he rolls his shoulders and tilts his head to stretch. 

From this close, you get to see the skin of his neck. 

And wonder how even that part of him is beautiful.

Turning to you, he scoots closer to tug your hood off in a rush. 

What—

“Shh,” he hushes, proceeding to fix your head to the best of his ability. 

Your eyes roam his face as you stare in shock, wondering why the hell he’s committing to having you here and why he’s styling you himself. 

When was the last time someone else even touched your head? This determined yet this tender, at that? You can’t believe this is happening.

Never mind that. You can’t believe you’re here with him at all. His famous fingers sliding through your strands; his perfect eyelashes brushing his cheeks with every solid blink of his eyes. 

While he’s trying to salvage the mess that’s your head, his hair’s appropriately slicked with just the right amount of product and flawless styling—

That’s when you realize. 

Oh, fuck. 

Taehyung’s getting you ready for the onslaught of cameras. 

Shit, shit shit. 

Being judged by two cowardly receptionists is one thing. But being judged, photographed, and written about by a swath of Kim Taehyung paparazzi?

That’s a thousand times worse. 

Barefaced and carrying evidence of the sleepless night you had yesterday, you’re suddenly grossly self-conscious about your entire appearance. 

The gap between your statuses, experience, and overall lifestyle suddenly resembles a canyon. One so wide you can’t even see him on the other side. 

Taehyung’s right there. 

And yet you feel the furthest you’ve ever felt. 

There’s no way you belong in his world. 

What the fuck are you even doing here? 

“Taehyung,” you hiccup, quickly interrupted by the shouts of people outside as the limo approaches the conference building. Rattling erupts and rings from inside your skin, and you stare back at him with equally trembling eyes. “I can’t do this—”

“You can.” 

“Please—”

Unfazed, he simply asks, 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.” 

Why did you say that so confidently? Why was that so easy to decide?

Do you really?

“Of course you do,” he sighs before pulling you in for a forehead kiss that catapults your heart into your throat. 

But you don’t get to question it before your hood is tugged over your head, dark sunglasses shoved onto your face right as camera flashes and jumbled yells spill into the opened car door.

People. Hands. Phones. Multiple camera snaps and lights and voices bombard your senses, and you’re grateful for the shades over your eyes as you hoist yourself out of the vehicle. 

Taehyung exits right after and blazes a trail for you to walk. 

“Excuse me, miss—”

“Who is she?”

“Taehyung, who is the mystery girl!” 

Through the whirlwind of paparazzi, your thoughts only convene on the cold spot where he kissed you. The freezing wind only makes it more prominent, and you barely even register that you’re walking by yourself as you follow right after him.

It’s only after you get through the heavy doors that your surroundings snap back into focus. 

Wait. What?

How long were you out in the crowd? How did you even get here in one piece? 

The sounds outside muffle as the entrance bangs shut, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were hiding.

“This way,” Taehyung directs to both you and the security detail that materializes behind you, striding heavily to the right. 

When did these guys…?

Whoa.

You have no clue where you are, but you are miles away from your apartment block. 

Taking in the expansive building, you see that it’s a true conference center, with a grand, open lobby and square footage for days. The right wing looks to house large event rooms, judging by its wide hall and the multiple sets of towering double-doors. 

Scampering after Taehyung, you make sure to stay behind but as close as possible. 

Which makes you almost collide when he stops on a dime. Again. 

You have got to stop walking behind him. 

Face scrunched in annoyance, you’re about to tell the man off—security be damned—before he blurts,

“When we get in there, just relax and follow my lead, okay?”

“Oh, I can wait out here,” you reply, more than happy to leave him to the masses now that you’ve got a taste of them outside. “I don’t mind.” 

Hands set in his trousers, Taehyung peers down at the floor before regarding you with what looks like… 

An apology. 

There’s dread in your veins.

“I wasn’t planning on putting you through a press conference this soon, but you can do this.” 

And it seeps right into your bones. 

“What?” 

His palms land on your shoulders before you can flee. 

“Look. The Board isn’t giving me a lot of time to introduce Astral, even though I told them that’s the only thing I need right now. I just…” Running a hand through his hair, Taehyung looks years older and yet years younger all the same. “I need a familiar face.” 

Hell no. 

There’s no way you can do this. 

Going with him and braving the paparazzi was horrid enough. But a press conference? 

What the fuck are you supposed to say? You aren’t even dressed.

“Taehyung. Look at me.” You gesture to your entire wreck of an ensemble, fingers trembling. “I’m gonna make Racchanel look like a fucking joke.” 

“I don’t care. This new project is going to work.” 

What? How is this possibly going to work? What single thing about this is gonna go well?

Has he lost his mind? 

“What do you mean?”

Instead of responding to your question, Taehyung only gives directions, 

“When we go in there, just keep your face neutral and your back and neck straight. If anyone asks you a question, just say you’re grateful for this opportunity. Understand?”

“Tae—”

“I’ll owe you.” 

You clamp your jaw shut, eyes unblinking as you drink in your former classmate’s entire expression. 

“I’ll owe you. Big.” He breathes in deep before looking at the doors, then back to you. “Just do this one thing. For me.”

What is he thinking?

You pause for eternity before closing your eyes, wondering if he can even see how uncertain they are behind your dark shades. 

“Fine. I will.”

What are you thinking?

“That’s a good girl,” he sighs in relief, embracing you fully before planting another quick peck on your temple. As he pulls away, your hand is clutched before you’re led right up to a set of imposing doors.

To give a press conference.

What are either of you even remotely thinking?

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tbc. :) 

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how do we feel! | taglist + extra optional teaser

a/n: ahhhh it may not make much sense now since this is dropping everyone in the middle of the first part, but i wanted there to be some mystery to everything that’s about to happen! hope you’re all ready to see what’s on the horizon for this tae and reader<33

other links: masterlist | permanent taglist (i check each entry so have your age displayed somewhere in your profile!)

#ahhhh wanted to get something out for today! #hope you enjoy :D #bts #taehyung #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #taehyung fic #bts fanfic #taehyung x you #bangtanarmynet #*latest #ryenwrites #racchanel #*ryenfictalk #happytaeday22! #taehyung smut #taehyung angst

[kidrauhlschik]

3. Tangled Memories - Lee Know AU

Post Traumatic Amnesia (PTA) is a transient state of confusion, disorientation and memory loss that occurs immediately following a traumatic brain injury. PTA is sometimes also referred to as post traumatic confusional state and can occur from the moment of injury until the return of continuous memory.

The accident was a tragedy.

But it was the best tragedy to ever happen to you.

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Pt 3 - See pt 1, 2, & 4 on the Masterlist linked above

Warnings: angst, f!reader, enemies to lovers, drunk driving, gaslighting, Fighting, yelling, cursing, angst, heartbreak, lies, angst, accidents, not proofread, minho is mean, lmk if I missed anything!!

Words: 6.7k

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"Did I know how to skate?" You yell out to Minho while pulling out a skateboard from a box that was in the depths of the hallway closet.

"Huh? I don't know" He responds while continuing to make dinner.

You frown and make your way to the kitchen.

"Why don't you know?" He should know right? Even if the two of you were distant friends, he should still know, right?

"Maybe you haven't skated in a while?" He's doing all he can to avoid eye contact, but that is nothing new for Minho. It made enough sense to you though.

In the middle of dinner, while shoveling food into your mouth, you get a random idea. "Wanna go skating together?"

"I don't know how to skate." He deadpans.

"I do, I can teach you!"

"You didn't even know you could until like thirty minutes ago."

"It should be like riding a bike, right?"

After much debating in his head, Minho decides to leave caution in the wind. It's been a while since he had fun, and he might as well enjoy your friendship while he still could.

"Fine. We can buy a board for me after we finish eating." He responds, making it seem like he wasn't a bit excited for the idea.

You immediately stand from your chair at his response. "Great! I'll go get ready!" Leaving half a bowl of noodles behind. Not noticing that the man you left behind was lost in his own thoughts.

Minho sighs and grabs your plate to finish it up for you. He doesn't take you out often, Chris and the others take that upon themselves, and he had barely gotten comfortable around you again. Well, as comfortable as an ex rival that caused you to leave the house to have an accident, who also has been lying to you and pretended to have a crush on you, who is now aware that you might have a crush on him which makes him uneasy, can get.

After an hour, the two of you had made your way to the park that he had taken you to take walk. Minho was holding you by your forearms, similar to how you were holding him, except with a lot less hawk-like grip. You legs were shaking, causing the board to move from side to side, had it not been for Minho holding you the entire time, you might've already broken a bone or two.

"Like riding a bike, huh?" He laughs, and amidst your panic, you notice that his two front teeth are larger than the rest, giving his smile a sense of innocence and cuteness, like a rabbit.

"Adorable." You think you say that in your head, until Minho's smile disappears and his grip faulters. The board slips from under you, and instead of falling with it, you throw yourself forward to the man that would cushion your fall.

In shock, Minho lays there frozen in place. His small eyes, wide with surprise, search for any sign of discomfort in your face. His arms still loosely holding your forearms, while your hands were on either side of his head.

From below you, the man with such cold demeanor looked young. You couldn't quite place it, but his eyes lacked worry, and his features looked soft. He wasn't pensive, or stressed, or anything that you've grown accustomed to see on him. For a second, his mind was blank.

The pain in your arm brought you back to reality. It's healed but landing on it using your full weight caused a shooting pain that you had forgotten. Unable to hold yourself up, you wince in paid and let your arm drop, now using you elbow to lean on.

After opening your eyes, Minho had the same shocked expression he wore before, except now, your face is not even an inch away from his. You hair is brushing his forehead, your noses are almost touching, and you can feel his breath on your lips. Up close, you begin to notice more about him, like the way his cupids bow is deeper than most. Had his eyes always been so sharp? Had his lips always looked so soft?

Without thinking, you lean in, softly. You don't attack him, but more so, showing him that if he wanted to keep going, the door was open for him. Your lips brush against each other as you close your eyes, hoping that he may do the same.

A million thoughts ran through his head, a million scenarios with no clear beginning or ending. Yet, all he can focus on is your warm body pressed against him, the world silent around you, and your lips touching his. He leans in to close the gap, closing his eyes and savoring the moment. Sending his brain into hyper-focus, he puts his hand behind your head and flips you around, making sure your head wouldn't hit the cement below you. His kiss is gentle at first, wanting to make sure that every move he made was safe, but he wanted to turn it into something more. He still felt intense feelings towards you, but now he wasn't sure that they were all hate.

He slowly pulls away while staring at your silent smile as your eyes flutter open.

Neither of you know what to do or say, so you opt to end the awkwardness. With a laugh, you hit his chest dramatically. "Get off of me! You're heavier than you look!"

Your words bring a smile back to his face, relaxing a bit. "Oh yeah? You're not the one who was used as a human cushion." He stands above you and offers you a hand in help, which you gladly take.

"I guess skating is not like riding a bike. Tsk. We can try again later." You say while patting the dirt off of your clothess.

"Who the hell is we?" He asks as he's picking up your board from where it had rolled to the grass. He didn't even get a chance to try.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say Minnie." Your words make him freeze in place. You had never called him Minnie before. Hell, you hardly ever called him by his real name before the accident.

You begin to walk towards the car but stop when you realize that Minho wasn't following you.

Turning around, you find him still standing at the place your board had rolled to. "You coming?"

How foolish? What game was Minho trying to play with himself? He knew that you hated him, not current you but past you did, and he's sure that future you will as well. He's well aware that there is no way this would end well, but you're so gentle, so beautiful, you're caring, confident, and sometimes funny. How did he never see that before? Conflicted is the best word he could use to describe what he was feeling, on one hand you were despicable to him, you made sure to make his life hell whenever you came around, and you were selfish and only ever cared about your own feelings. On the other hand, you took care of him while he took care of you, you sat by his side in silence while no one could stand to be in a room with him, you made him smile on days he thought it wasn't worth it, and you became a piece of sunshine to him. A sunshine that he wanted to protect from rainy days and scary nights.

So yeah. Conflicted.

"Yeah! Coming."

Once you arrived back to your apartment, you stood outside and turned to Minho.

"I hate to do this right now, but I agreed to spend the night at Hyunjin's tonight. He wanted to show me this movie that he swears I used to love." Hyunjin. Your mutual friend Hyunjin, the guy who had been friends with you longer than Minho had. The Hwang Hyunjin who only saw you as a friend. So why did it bother Minho so much?

It had to be fear at the possibility any of the guys would tell you the truth about Minho. That was surely it.

"But I'll be back tomorrow, we can watch your favorite movie then? I can learn more about you." Your suggestion was more of a question, scared that anything had changed between you and Minho because of the kiss.

"I would love that." He gives you small smile before turning towards the door to make himself in. You stop him before he could step through and take him into your embrace.

Your arms are hooked around his neck, and Minho stands frozen in place, holding a board on either hand.

Your voice is hardly above a whisper, "Thank you for everything Min." and you hold him tighter.

He drops the boards once he hears the words and brings his arms around your waist. Holding you so close that his nose brushes your neck and he can smell the scent of your shampoo.

Your hug felt so warm to him. He wanted to cry because he felt trusted and appreciated for the first time in a long time. Knowing that it was all built on lies made him want to crumble to the ground.

After taking your scent in one more time, he lets you go and quickly collects the boards, purposely avoiding eye contact with you. His face was flushed, but you just assumed that he was feeling flustered from your words.

"Be safe. Text me when you get there." He says to you while almost running inside and shutting the door behind him, leaving you outside alone. His words brought strange comfort to your chest, a bit endearing and unexpected to hear from Lee Minho of all people.

-

"Wait you did what?!" Hyunjin's surprised face and the wine glass he was holding made him look like a character from a reality show. Real House Wives? You couldn't quite remember.

"I didn't plan it okay? I lost my balance and things just kind of happened." Hyunjin had become your confidant among everything Minho related. It felt as if he was the only one supporting your delusions.

Realistically, he was the only one foolish enough to believe in the enemies to lovers trope. Everyone else would try to plant seeds of doubt in your brain, while Hyunjin was always the one to ask for more details and agree with everything you'd say, no matter how delusional or out of pocket it could be. Call him a hopeless romantic of sorts.

"What the hell made you think you could skate?"

"Well, there was a board in my closet..." Hyunjin throws his head back and begins to laugh as if you had said the joke of the century.

"That's not yours you idiot. Innie asked you to hold it for him while he was moving last year. Guess you never gave it back." He takes a second to wipe away his tears. "You have the balance of a baby giraffe. Please. You? Skating? As if."

"You're a dick." Pouting, you go to take another sip of wine.

"Yeah, yeah, but you love me."

"I guess."

Obviously, he always has to have the last word. "Not more than you love Minho though." He jokes as he catapults himself to the kitchen, presumably to fill his glass back up.

"Hey!" You shout in his direction but he's well out of your line of sight at that point.

If this had always been your life, you'd love to remember the fond memories you shared with all of your friends. Then maybe you could figure out why you had ever rejected Minho.

-

Minho woke up to the sound of sobs.

The light sleeper that he is, he heard muffled cries from your room across the hallway. Half asleep and in pajamas, he follows the sound of your cries, his brain still lagging behind in bed.

He doesn't quite zone in to the situation until he opens your door. He finds you beside your bed, on the floor. You are holding your knees up to your chest and you were hiding your face within your own body.

You don't look up until Minho touches your back. Had he called out for you? When did he even come in? You jump away from his touch, still sobbing, but making some distance between yourself and the man.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly, as if he spoke any louder, you'd run away like a stray cat in fear.

"Go away," Your voice is shaky, and once again, Minho is thrown in for a loop. He's only ever seen you mad and happy, but sad? That was a new puzzle for him. "Please." The word comes out so small and frail, causing Minho to be at a loss of words. He wanted to help you, but everyone is different, what if he accidentally made everything worse?

"Are you having a panic attack?"

Were you having a panic attack? Is this what having a panic attack feels like? You've never had a panic attack before, or that's what you think. Fear is the only thing you can feel, overwhelmed by the memories, and your surroundings, the floor being too rough, the lights being too bright, you just wanted to shut everything off, your mind included. His presence feels overbearing, he wants something, he wants a response, and that's frustrating. So many expectancies, so many opinions, and you can't ever meet the mark. Why can't your brain get it's shit together? Why is it showing you the bad parts of your life? You wish you could permanently erase those, or maybe even erase everything. A clean slate had been good so far, was every memory going to continue being this shitty?

"Where are you right now?" His voice breaks you out of your thoughts for half a second. You want to respond, but even the task feels like too much at the moment, so you just stare at him confused.

"Tell me where you are right now." You can hear the demand, but it's so foolish. Why won't he leave you alone?

"Answer me."

If you answer him, he might finally leave you alone. "My room." Unsure and cautious, your voice hardly reaches his ears.

"Wonderful. Now, what's my name?"

Is he high? What the hell was he talking about? You take a minute to study the man and make sure he wasn't part of a dream or a hallucination.

After realizing that he might be real, you reply. "You're Lee Minho."

"Sure am. What time is it?" He asks as if he didn't have a phone in his pocket, but you take notice.

"You can check your phone."

Dead serious, he responds, "No I can't. Tell me the time."

With a huff, you stood up and looked through you bedsheet to find your own phone. "It's 01:16 AM." You say while throwing the device back in bed.

"Cool. Thanks. How old are you?"

"Lee Minho. What the fuck are you trying to get at?" You have had enough non sense. What kind of stupid questions are those?

He lets out a breath and closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, he's met with your confused, angry ones.

"Are you feeling better?" His voice still as soft as before.

"Am I feeling better? What kind of fucking question is that?" After the question escapes your lips, you realize what he'd just done. "I mean, yes. A little." You sit back down in the floor, mirroring his position a couple of feet next to you, both now significantly more relaxed.

"Good." That's all he says in response. He stares at his hands and doesn't try to pry or say anything further.

After a couple of minutes of comfortable silence, you're the first one to speak up. "I remembered some things."

He looks up to make eye contact with you and you notice something strange about the way he looks at you. Was it panic?

Since he remains tight lipped and serious, so you take it upon yourself to continue talking.

"I remembered the night I left my house, how terrible my family was, living alone in the streets, not knowing what my next meal would be, not knowing who to trust,-" He interrupts you before you got more carried away with your words.

"You're not there anymore. You are here. You are with me in the safety of your own room, inside of your own apartment. You are not alone, and you don't have to explain anything if you don't want to. Just know that if you do, I will listen to you." His serious expression is hard to read at times, the only thing giving him away were his eyes, full of comfort and care. You could stare at him all night.

You try to fully process his words. How does he always know what to say? Lee Minho, the guy who has been by your side since you woke up from the hospital, the one who never tried to pressure you into remembering, the guy who cares about you despite not even remembering him. Lee Minho, the guy who has made you fall for him without even trying.

"Thank you Min. It's just that it sucks, I feel like I'm trying to solve a puzzle in my head all day and night. The memories come as dreams sometimes and I can't separate reality from fantasy. I hoped that what I remembered was just a nightmare, but it makes sense, it feels too real to be made up." You scoot closer to him in order to allow yourself to be comforted, but the action that used to feel natural, felt more stiff this time. Suddenly, the feeling of being alone and unable to rely on anyone creeps into your spine. What if he betrayed you? What if he took advantage of you? The trust you're putting on him felt as if you were giving him a piece of your heart, hoping he wouldn't drop it. This is Minho though, he wouldn't do anything to hurt you. So you swallow your worry and keep talking. "Is everything going to be like this? Was my life that awful? Will they only get worse from here?" The question is barely audible, afraid of what the answer may be.

"No." He immediately responds. "You met Chan, Hyunjin, Felix, Innie, and the rest of the guys, they all love you. The memories you've made with them were incredible. You're really intelligent and hard working, you even got your own apartment instead of staying in the dorms! And the memories you will make in the future will blow away all of the shitty things you've been through. I can't promise you it'll be perfect, but it'll be better." Everything he said was true, he never acknowledged your accomplishments before, he never cared to, but seeing you under a new light, he was finally able to see how amazing you were. Smart, competitive, gentle, caring, strong, independent, just to name a few of the qualities he admires about you. Little does he know that those are some of your favorite qualities about him.

"And you." He tilts his head in confusion. "I met you." You smile at him affectionately.

He offers a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, and me."

"I'm just scared. I can already tell that my past really messed with me, but I don't want to change. I like who I am now Min. What if my memories leave me so broken, that I become a shell of who I wanted to be?" You liked your life now, what if losing your memories had been a blessing? Why was the world trying to take your blessing away from you?

"It's okay to be broken," His hand reaches yours and holds it tightly in his, "I'm here to hold the pieces."

A relieved smile makes its was to your face. You knew that you could trust him.

Before, you would've opted to throw your hands around him to give him a hug, but with this new found fear of yours, you settle for resting your head on his shoulder.

The two of you sit there until the morning, you telling him a some memories and puzzle pieces, and him listening to everything you had to say.

-

You had been distant since that night. Always seemingly in your own little world as if actively working to untangle the webs in your brain.

Initially, Minho didn't give it much thought, he wanted to give you some space. However, he couldn't help but miss your excitement and curiosity. It seemed as if joy had been stripped from you that night and there seemed to be a dark cloud following you ever since.

You were beginning to resemble the person that you were before, at least to him. Whenever he'd see you in passing, you were always smiling and trying to make others happy. When you were with him, it was as if your only joy came from making him miserable, but Minho didn't want that anymore, but he also doesn't want you to hide yourself anymore. He doesn't want to ask you to act how you used to, but he also hates to see you sad.

If this had happened a year ago, Minho would have paid to see you suffer, but for some reason, now he can't stand it.

You'd never guess though. All of your days blended together. Wake up, eat the breakfast Minho left for you, watch the shows the guys recommended you (something about as if you were watching them for the first time), play some memory games, take a nap, eat dinner with Minho, watch a movie, and go to sleep. You've been doing everything you could to avoid hanging out with the other guys, they'd immediately know something was wrong, and you don't want them to bother worrying about you.

Unfortunately, you couldn't do much about Minho knowing, since he made himself inside your of room that horrid night. So you had no choice but to coexist with him and hope that he didn't tattle to to the other guys.

"Hey, how's Y/N? I haven't seen her in while, kinda feels like she's avoiding me." Jeongin says as he packs up the rest of his things.

Felix makes his way to the pair, bag already hanging from his shoulder. "Yeah I've been feeling like that too. How is she?"

Minho feels as if they only ever talk to him to talk about you, but he doesn't mind too much. Something is better than nothing after all.

"She's fine. Just been feeling a little down lately."

"Why? What happened?" Chan appears behind Minho as if he had been waiting to hop in the conversation.

"Nothing, she just misses school and what not." He didn't want to tell them about what happened. He didn't even want to tell them that you were slowly getting your memories back. You confided in him, and to Minho that was precious. He couldn't just tell your secrets for no reason.

"Are you sure about that Lee Minho?" Chan says sounding more threatening.

"Yes I am Christopher." He responds while rolling his eyes. "I was thinking of taking her somewhere fun tonight." Zipping the bag shut and draping it over his shoulder, he looks up and notices that all of the guys are looking at him as if he had grown a second head.

"You're taking Y/N out?" Seungmin asks.

"Yes?" Minho isn't dumb, he knows this is out of character for him, but he also knows that if you ever regain your memories, he wants you to see him differently. Maybe if he makes enough good memories with you, you'll ignore the bad ones. Hopefully.

Chan couldn't help but doubt him. "That's bit of an overkill, don't you think? Give me my keys. I'll get ready and take her out instead." He never expected for the two of you to get along. The whole purpose for making Minho stay with you and take care of you was for him to realize that he needed to stop being an asshole, but to go as far for them to be friends? He could never imagine it.

Hyunjin is quick to put a hand on Chan's shoulder. "Wait! Wait. I think it's great that Minho wants take her out. It was about time! She always tell me how much she likes hanging out with you."

"She does?" Both Minho and Chan ask at the same time.

"Definitely. I'm not going to lie, I think she may have a crush on Minho." Hyunjin knew for a fact that you were smitten with Minho, but he felt it'd be better for you to properly confess yourself.

Chris clears his throat and when he turns to look at Minho, the younger is still looking at Hyunjin, smile playing on his lips, with a look of pleasant surprise, and a hint of timidness. Chan wouldn't help but wonder if Minho had a crush on you as well.

"Well look how the damn turn tables-" Jeongin interrupts the leader, "It's tables turned." but Chris hardly takes notice of his correction, much more distracted with the situation at hand. "And here I thought you would both actually murder each other one day."

Minho couldn't help but wince at the statement, knowing that it could have been true had you not been so lucky.

"Yeah, yeah." He brushes them off and starts heading to the door.

"Minho." Chris' voice now more demanding and serious than before.

He turns and now him and the rest of the guys turn to look at Chris. "Take care of her."

Minho nods and continues to walk away, wondering if the guys would have reacted differently if they knew that your memory was coming back and that you were essentially a ticking time bomb. Nevertheless, Minho shakes the thought out of his head and continues his journey to you apartment.

He's deadset on earning your forgiveness, whether you knew it or not.

-

"I used to love getting on the big roller coaster!" You say with childlike glee.

"You did?! Seriously?"

"Do I not seem like the type of person to enjoy coasters?"

Minho composes himself a bit before responding, "It's fitting."

"Fitting how?"

"You're a psychopath. Only crazy people enjoy being thrown around by tons of metal, barely being held by a metal rod." He smiles to himself, as if proud with his statement.

You playfully smack him in the arm, which he responds by dramatically yelping out an "Ow!" and holding the area you hit.

The two of you are walking side by side with your arms linked together. You had to admit, you were having fun, and Minho was the reason for it.

You stop in your tracks after spotting a specific ride, "C'mon! Ride the roller coaster with me!" Trying to pull the man toward the line of people, but he wasn't budging.

"I'd rather die."

"You're telling me big ole scary Minho is scared of a little coaster?"

He turns his back on you, "I'm not scared, I just value my life." but you weren't going to give up.

"C'mon Minnieeeee." You drag out his new nickname in hopes to coax him to go with you. "Do you really want me to ride the ride alone? With a stranger? With absolutely no one to protect me?" You put your body in front of his and try to give him the pest puppy dog eyes you can muster.

"Yes." He deadpans, but it's not enough for you to back down.

"Please Min, for me?"

"Fine." And he cracks.

After convincing him to try more rides with you, you finally tire yourself out. Minho buys you some cotton candy and the two of you make your way to a picnic table.

"Thank you so much for tonight Min." You stare at him appreciatively. He looked beautiful under the colored lights. His eyes reflecting the colors, and his skin being illuminated by the glow. He looked magical, as if straight out a fantasy novel, almost like a fairy.

"Don't thank me yet. I might barf on you on the way home." You notice that he looked a bit pale, but despite being on the verge of throwing up, he looked perfect.

You grab his hand and he looks at you, he needs to know you're being serious. "Seriously Min, thank you for everything. Thank you for bringing me out here tonight, thank you for staying up with me during rough nights, thank you for staying by my side this whole time, and thank you for everything you've done for me. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to properly thank you for everything. You're amazing for doing all of that while I couldn't give you anything in return."

His throat feels dry, loss for words. He hates himself for everything. He hates himself for selfishly staying with you for an ulterior motive, he hates himself for earning your trust with his lies, he hates himself for making you miserable before the accident, he hates- His thought are cut short by your hand touching his cheek. You smile at him with so much affection that he feels as if he couldn't breathe. You were breathtaking. Your sweet smile is enough to whisk away all of his problems, your eyes sparkling with the lights carrying so much glee, everything about you makes him want to melt. Have you always been this perfect? Even with your messy hair, you looked like a princess.

"No problem princess." He smiles timidly at you. If only he could pause this moment forever.

You lean in and connect his lips with yours. To you everything was perfect. The night, the vibe, Minho, and your life. There had been bumps in the road, but with Minho by your side, you're sure that you'll overcome them.

Minho felt as if he was dreaming, but he couldn't forget the tears you had spilled, the sleepless nights, the constant anxiety, and the distrust. Had you always been that way? Were you always full of tears? Such a beautiful soul with a beautiful heart had to endure constant rain? Was Minho the thunder in your life? Only there to cause chaos and reek havoc.

You slowly pull away from him, still only a couple of inches away. Mesmerized by his beauty, you couldn't help yourself.

"I think I love you." Your hands lay softly on his cheeks, holding him gently in place.

Minho grabs your face and pulls you to him, connecting your lips once again. When he finally pulls away, he whispers, "I think I love you too."

-

Minho was in cloud nine for some time, the guys finally seemed to get along with him again, they supported his relationship, and he had you. Initially, the two of you being together earned some concerned looks from the others, but after sitting down with the guys and explaining himself completely, the guys began to understand him better. Of course he didn't mention anything regarding your memories coming back to them, they'd be more cautious if they knew.

After some stirring around, Minho throws his arm over your side of the bed and realizes that you're not next to him.

'She must be restless tonight' he thought to himself.

He tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes and rolls out of bed. It wasn't uncommon for you to have nightmares and leave the room right after. You'd always say that you didn't want to bother him and that you wanted to let him rest, but Minho never cared about his own rest. He wanted to make sure that you knew that you were safe and that he'll always be there for you.

Once he's in the living room, he sees your frame sitting on the couch, but this time you weren't crying. You were silently staring at the floor, arms on either side of your body, surrounded by darkness.

"Princess?" He calls out to you. This was strange to him now. You guys had spent the previous night playing monopoly, he even let you win, so it wouldn't make sense for you to be mad at him.

When you looked up to see him, Minho was taken aback. Dread clouded his head along with feeling exposed under your gaze. Your eyes looked so cold and he couldn't help but wonder if he was the reason for the sudden frost. The longing that he grew accustomed to was now gone and it took the spark in your eyes with it.

"Princess?" He repeats.

"You lied to me." You say through clenched teeth.

Your tone was sharp, Minho hadn't heard that tone of voice in almost a year. The sound brought him back, and he didn't enjoy it one bit. He wasn't prepared for this. He'd known that you were going to remember him sooner rather than later, but he thought that he still had time, but he was wrong.

He takes a couple of steps towards you, "Princess, please let me explain."

You immediately get off the couch and step away from him. "Don't touch me." He stops in his tracks, "And don't fucking call me that."

"Prin- Y/N. Please, just hear me out." Minho's voice is beginning to faulter. His eyes begin to sting and every word is causing him to get more choked up. He just needs to explain himself, maybe if he could, you'd understand.

You respond with a humorless chuckle. "Hear you out Minho? Hear what out exactly? That you've been lying to me for a year? That you came into my home and pretended to play house? That you coaxed me into telling my secrets for whatever sick little game you have going on? What the hell do you need to explain?"

"No, you don't get it. I didn't lie - I didn't lie too much. If I'd told you that you hated me-" His voice is desperate, but yours is authoritative, cold, and lacking of any emotion. "I still hate you." Despite feeling a heavy weight on his chest, he does his best to gather himself. "Don't say that. Please. We love each other."

"What kind of fucking delusion have you been living in? Why the hell did you even do this?"

"Chan - he -" Not sure if he should lie or just come clean, he ponders on his response for a second, looking for the next words to say. "Chan said I should do it because -" He looks at you like a child who's been caught stealing. "Because of the accident."

The words rattle you for a second. Your demeanor shifting slightly at he last piece of the puzzle. You couldn't remember the accident, but you were at Changbin's place. Why did you leave? You were talking to Innie and then, Minho.

"The accident." Your eyes search the room, your vision begins to blur but not out of sadness but pure desperation. "It was your fault. You're the reason I left that day. If it wasn't for you, I'd still be going to school! I wouldn't have lost a whole fucking year of my life!" Rage. An emotion that Minho was more used to seeing, but he had not been on the receiving end of your fury in a long time.

"No, no, please don't say that. It was my fault, but I'm doing everything I can to fix it. Please don't. I can't handle that from you." He was begging. Never in a million years did you ever expect to see Minho this way.

"You've gone soft on me. Grow a pair and own up to your shit." Wiping the stay tear that managed to escape your eyelid, and fortifying yourself once again.

"Princess. Please. You need to understand that things have changed."

"For you Minho! You had a fucking year to work through whatever acid trip made you think that us being together was okay. I woke up not even a fucking hour ago with everything hitting me like a ton of bricks. All of those feelings I used to have for you, every bad emotion came right back!" Your yelling is making him seem more pathetic by the second. Instead of matching your energy and yelling back, he continued to cry and cower at your words. He knew he messed up, but hearing it from the first person he's loved in the way that he loved you, hurt him in the most unexpected way.

"What about the good feelings?" He asks timidly.

"That's the worst fucking part Minho! My head is in shambles. All of the shit you've done in the past year is there, but now I know Chris forced you, because I know good and well if I had died that day, you'd only feel remorse from hurting the guys. You've never given a shit about me. All of the hell that you caused me is there, but now I'm living in a new kind of hell in which the person that I hate the most knows the deepest darkest shit about me." You felt vulnerable. You told Minho about things you never confided with Christopher. He'd seen you at your absolute weakest and you're expected to be okay with that?

"Don't tell me you hate me. You're the only person that has noticed the scars of the wounds in my heart in a way that no one has before. You're my everything. You were there for me when no one else was. This is real. What we have is real." His tears have stopped now, no longer desperate, but instead defeated. He felt like he was back in his trainee days, when he was told that he couldn't debut. He tried to be strong, but eventually the tears couldn't be stopped. It wasn't until he'd accepted his fate that he stopped crying. Instead of feeling sorry for himself, he began to tell himself that he deserved it. If he'd only been better, he would have debuted. That's the exact feeling he felt now while talking to you. If he had been better since the beginning, none of this would have happened. If that day in class, he would've just apologized for spilling coffee on you, then everything would've been different.

"Was it real Minho? Did you really love me or was it a decision for your own sake to escape the loneliness?" Though the two of you were still talking amidst the darkness, you notice him freeze in place.

Your walls were back in place and you were taking a wrecking ball to his. The shield around his heart had made a special little door just for you, and now you were shattering everything you could get your hands on.

"It was real to me." Dried tears stained his face, his heart and joy had been stripped from him in a matter of minutes. His flooring was nowhere to be found, the disassociation hit him harder than ever, and he could only see himself through fogged glass and soundproof walls.

Why was he so foolish?

"I don't think I can do this Minho. I think you should leave." After telling him to go, you don't waste another second to retreat back into your room, walking past him, and locking the door behind you. You didn't so much as spare Minho a glace, you're not even sure how to look at him anymore.

Minho stands there for what feels like forever, trying to ignore the pain he feels in is chest. He wants to be numb, but this is a different type of hurt that he's never felt before.

He walks to the kitchen and grabs a sticky note and pen. In neat hand writing, he leaves you a note in the surface of the fridge. The notes that used to read something among the lines of "Eat the food." or "BRB" now read a message that cost Minho everything to write.

"Please erase me from your memory and find happiness."

-

A/N: This was supposed to be the last chapter but my s/o thinks I shouldn't leave it like this - so i swear - next chapter will be the last and a lot shorter! Thank you for reading!

TAGLIST: @stanstraykidsskz @weareapackofstrays @linos-kitten @cassidymb121

#straykids imagine #kpop imagine #straykids x reader #bang chan #lee know x reader #lee know #Minho #minho x reader #changbin #hyunjin #Felix #seungmin #jeongin #Jisung #straykids #skz imagines #skz x yn #skz x of #skz x you #skz x Reader #straykids x oc #straykids x y/n #straykids x you #straykids scenarios #skz scenarios #lee know imagine #lee know scenarios #minho scenarios #lee know x you #lee know x yn

[onemeangreenbean]

Anything Ch 2

SUMMARY: On the precipice of death Wynter does the only thing she can think to do to save herself. Something that is forbidden in her practice….to summon a demon and make a deal. The demon that answers her call ask what Wynter is offering  and in her delirious state she answers with the only thing she can think of  “Anything”.

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x BlackWitch OC 

GENRE: Demon AU, Mystery, Strangers to Lovers, Soulmates, Smut, Fluff, Angst, slowburn

WARNINGS: violence, gore, murder (maybe), eventual smut, panic attacks, honestly my brain has stopped but promise each chapter with have individual warnings!

WORDCOUNT: 6,717

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Anything Masterlist | Masterlist

Yoongi kept Wynter cornered against the counter, not because he was still interested in intimidating her, but because he was finding it difficult to remove himself from her aura. “Um, if you don’t mind, Yoongi,” she spoke his name carefully, unsure if she was pronouncing it correctly. “ Can you please move? I need to get ready for work.”

He just hummed and reluctantly moved back. Wynter took the opportunity to move around him and into the small bathroom on the other side of the apartment. She took off her pajamas and put her big shower cap on, if she was being honest she had achieved the perfect messy bun, and for a Black girl that was a miracle that must be protected at all cost. It wasn’t a long shower just enough to wash the ache from almost dying from her bones and at least figure out what her next step was going to be. 

Wynter would obviously need to redo her protection wards, though with a demon living with her now she wondered if she would need to come up with new ones that allowed him to come and go as he pleased without having to bother her. Fuck! A demon was going to be living with her. In her small ass studio apartment. No more privacy. While she loved her small place, from the front door you could see the whole thing! 

Choosing to save that problem for future Wynter to solve, she quickly finished getting done in the bathroom only to realize halfway through her skincare routine she didn’t bring in any clothes. Used to just walking around her apartment naked she didn’t think to grab anything. God, this is embarrassing. Making sure her towel was around her extra tight she opened up the bathroom door letting out a puff of steam. Poking her head out took in her small space noting that Yoongi was nowhere to be found. 

Maybe he was just joking when he said he was staying with her? Maybe his version of staying was being some specter that only came when Wynter needed him? Either way she was free to get dressed in peace. She stood in front of her clothing rack after putting on her bra and panties debating if she should wear more layers than normal due to how heavy it was raining. 

“Do you always walk around without clothes on with strange men in your home” Yoongi’s voice resounded in the quiet apartment causing Wynter to jump. 

She tried to cover up as much of herself as possible by hiding behind the side of her bed. “I thought you were gone!” She hissed. 

“I was,” Yoongi suppressed the smirk that was playing on his lips. When he had left to canvas the neighborhood he didn’t expect to come back to Wynter’s nearly naked form, while he wasn’t complaining at all it was just surprising. He enjoyed the way her rich sepia skin looked soft to the touch. Her chest full and the way her hips flared out to her even fuller ass, the lilac lace stretched across it. . He adjusted himself as he sat on a small sofa. “I went to make sure the area was safe and to mark it as taken.” 

Wynter yanked open her chest of drawers that she used as a makeshift nightstand and pulled out the first t-shirt and jeans her hands found. “What are you a dog who needs to mark his territory?” She decided that in order to preserve her modesty she would just get dressed on the floor since there was no way she was giving Yoongi a free show. 

“It’s not as crude as you’re making it sound,” Yoongi scoffed, “It’s just a way for me to make sure there aren’t any threats and that anyone who comes within a one mile radius of this apartment better have a death wish.” Yoongi had found some low level demons hanging around but they weren’t even worth his energy to try and kill. He should probably set an example out of one just to be on the safe side but from what he could see Wynter’s wards had done a good job of keeping things out. 

Popping up fully dressed Wynter went and got her lunch together for work. “Seems like overkill to be frank. I’ve never had a problem before.” She had decided on something light since the June humidity was bound to drain her. A simple salad and some of her homemade sweet tea would have to do. 

“You’ve never had a demon at my level before in this area. I’m bound to attract attention. That's why I don’t come up in the first place.” Yoongi mumbled the last part. As good as he was at fighting – and in turn winning – he didn’t like to expend the energy if he could help it. Plus he was now in hiding and he needed to stay that way. 

While Wynter wanted to say something smart back she just quirked a brow. Yoongi seemed so full of himself but she did owe him her life – both literally and figuratively – either way she was now running behind. “Besides, someone went through a lot of trouble to try and kill you and it’s worth taking the extra precautions–” Yoongi noticed that Wynter was putting on her orange raincoat and her matching rainboots about to leave. “Where are you going? I wasn’t done speaking.”

“To work.” Grabbing her umbrella Wynter got the door slightly opened before it slammed shut. Trying again this time it only opened a crack before slamming shut. “Is there a reason you’re not letting me leave?” Wynter peered over her shoulder at Yoongi who was still sitting on the couch looking smug that his little containment spell around the apartment was working as planned. 

“I wasn’t done speaking.”

“Well, that sucks for you but I need to get to work.” Focusing her energy she found a slight opening in Yoongi’s spell and created a hole big enough for her to open the door and slip out of the apartment. Something that Wynter found surprising considering the “level” that Yoongi claimed he was at, either he must be out of practice or she was just better than he thought. Wynter felt a small sense of pride as she watched the condescending smirk drop from his face as she waved goodbye and started off down the hall. 

The small bookshop she worked at was only a 15 minute walk from her apartment, something she usually enjoyed but didn’t realize that monsoon season was going to make a nightmare. While her bubble umbrella protected her for the most part she knew that by the time she made it to the storefront that her pants were going to be absolutely soaked. “What part of I was still speaking to you did you not understand?” Wynter plowed right into Yoongi’s chest as he appeared in front of her. 

He reached out to steady her, sparing a fleeting touch on her arms, taking his hands back as quickly as possible. Yoongi wasn’t used to people just walking away from him – ever. The rain seemed to be getting heavier and Wynter seemed to be getting more irritated that he was in her path. “What part of I’m late to work did you not understand?” Moving around him gracefully, Wynter continued on her way, forcing Yoongi to follow her. 

“I’ll come with then.”

“Don’t you have better things to do like marking more of your territory?” Wynter couldn’t even bother to hide her eyeroll. “Besides you really shouldn’t come to work with me.” While the bookshop she worked at was pretty normal selling the usual suspects, they also specialized in rare occult writings. She had gotten lucky when she found out that they were hiring, well less hiring more so that she frequented the store so often in search of information that the owner offered her a job. 

Yoongi kept up with Wynter’s pace easily, she was considerably shorter than him – two of her strides equated to one of his. They weaved in and out of the other early morning commuters as they continued their conversation. “And why is that?” 

“Mostly cause I’m sure my boss won’t appreciate a demon in his store. It would be bad for business,” Wynter hummed. Knowing her boss, he already knew that Yoongi was nearby. “Besides I don’t need an escort to live my damn life.” Stopping to turn and look at Yoongi, Wynter stopped short at the fact that he was completely bone dry. “Why aren’t you wet?”

“What?” Furrowing his brows Yoongi tried to keep up with the abrupt change in topics. “A personal ward. What do you mean your boss wouldn’t want a demon at his shop?”

Wynter hummed in appreciation, she had never thought to use wards on her person. “I mean just that! What warlock do you know wants demons around their business? Also, will you teach me how to do that?”

“ No. You work for a warlock? Are you sure he isn’t the one that tried to kill you? Also if he isn’t wouldn’t he understand you taking some time off?”

Scoffing Wynter turned around, “For your information, he wouldn’t pull anything like that death curse. Also yes, I work for a warlock, a shaman to be more exact. And I only get paid if I actually show up and it’s just the two of us and I won’t leave him without his only employee because I almost died.”

Grabbing Wynter’s arm and yanking her around to face him, Yoongi's eyes darkened. “That’s the point you almost died. You should be dead. While I appreciate your loyalty, the only person you can trust right now is me, no matter how much you don’t seem to like that fact. You summoned me to save you and that’s what I’m doing.” 

“No. What you’re doing is protecting your investment.” Wynter matched his piercing gaze. The sound of the rain hitting her umbrella was the only noise between them. His silence response enough. “That’s what I thought. If you’re so worried about it then canvas the fucking area.” Ripping her arm out of his grasp, she stomped off. Who in the hell did he think he was to dictate if she went to work or not? To manhandle her in public? He must have lost his damn mind! Wynter wasn’t stupid, she understood the gravity of the situation and was determined to correct the situation. She fully expected Yoongi to yell after her again, but when he didn’t she figured he got the hint a left. 

Mikrokosmos was still dark when Wynter walked up to the front door. Taking out her shop key she tried to push open the door but stopped short. Sighing deeply she braced herself before she rammed into the door with all her weight. Tripping over her own feet as she stumbled into the store. “Fuck!” Wynter rubbed her shoulder as she kicked the door back shut, locking it. 

Placing her umbrella in the corner and turning on the lights, Wynter went through with getting the store ready for opening. She counted the drawer, made sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and beefed up the wards protecting the shop. While she had told Yoongi to stay away she wasn’t all that sure he would, which if she was being honest with herself made her feel conflicted. On one hand she was still reeling and coming to terms that she was basically owned by this demon; and on the other she thought it was kind of cute that he seemed so worried. 

A loud smack filled the small space as Wynter tried to slap that stupid ass thought from her clearly lonely brain. “Is there a reason you’re slapping yourself this early in the morning?” Wynter turned quickly, knocking a book off the counter. 

“Namjoon!” Her boss peeked his head out of his back work room, the soft glow of his lamp making his silver hair look like a small cloud. He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses as he stood waiting for her answer. “Just trying to wake up. Had a really rough night,” Wynter tried to keep her voice as even as possible. While she was fully intent on asking Namjoon to help her with the whole death curse, demon deal situation she wanted to have a few hours where her life felt semi-together. Plus she knew that if she told Namjoon now that he would shut the store down until he could fix it. 

“Is everything okay?” Namjoon brows furrowed in concern as he rounded the counter to come closer to Wynter. “You know you can tell me anything and I’ll do anything in my power to help.” 

“I know, Joonie.” She could see the sincerity in his eyes and she could also sense something a little deeper, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. “I promise that if it gets out of my control I will come to you for help.” Wynter put on a fake smile hoping Namjoon was buying the shit she was spewing. She was totally and completely out of her depth and in need of help, but telling him about Yoongi seemed like a bad idea. “Though I will say that we should keep an eye on Jiyeon.”

Wynter watched several emotions flit through Namjoons expression from confusion to worry to curiosity before it settled on a neutral expression. “Why? She’s one of our best customers, besides I thought you two were becoming friends.” Checking his watch he began to turn on the lights in the shop. Following his lead Wynter walked over to the other side and began opening the blinds.

“We were,” she hesitated as she tried to find the right wording. “But she seemed to have other ideas. Either way I am asking you as your friend and your only employee and helper that we just watch her. I have a feeling.” Clasping her hands together she gave him her best puppy dog eyes. 

“Okay?” He drew out the syllables slightly confused. “Though I have to ask does whatever happened between you two have to do with you making all these wards extra strong?” Wynter watched him tap the glass and pull his hand back with a small “ow” when he got shocked. “I don’t even think I could get through them and I own the shop.” Namjoon let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Um, I just had a weird dream and just wanted to be safe.” Wynter stated as innocently as possible and slid her work apron over her head, making sure to avoid her puff. 

Her mentioning a dream seemed to grab Namjoon’s full attention as he turned towards her, “What was your dre–” 

“Oh, would you look at that our first patron of the day!” She had never been more excited to hear that damn bell above the door ring. 

The day had seemed to move by at a steady pace. Even though it was a rainy and gloomy day the bookshop stayed consistent for the most part; with customers either coming in to look at books or seeking Namjoon for this or that. Wynter was actually surprised they were so busy, and that Namjoon in particular was busy cause it meant she could do some research without his questions. 

    She scoured the books about death curses and ones that matched her symptoms in between customers but couldn’t find anything. All the passages Wynter read about death curses were surface level and would barely kill a fly if done correctly. Magic for dummies as she liked to call it; a little something to make non witches feel like they’re powerful. Wynter knew what she needed; the books in the back but in order to get to those she needed to get through Namjoon. 

While Wynter was great and avoiding topics of conversation she didn’t think she’d get very far before Namjoon figured out what was wrong. She knew he would help her without question, but she just felt that she really needed to at least figure out the first part herself. Which was what type of death curse and who placed it. One lead to the other and she was here in Seoul to become a better, a stronger witch. She could at least do this one fucking thing. Wynter decided that she was gonna give it a few days and if she made no headway then she would ask Namjoon, 

Yoongi had been watching Wynter from a cafe across the street from the bookshop. Through the large windows he could see her as she maneuvered through the shop with practiced ease, helping costumers, rearranging books, cleaning. Couldn’t help but notice her bright smile that graced her face when she was helping someone. Yoongi watched as she climbed one of the many bookshelf ladders to clean and rearrange the very top shelf, still out of reach from her petite stature. He watched the way she tried to extend her reach standing on her toes, the way her jeans stretched out over the curves of her ass, and how her shirt rode up a bit showing the slightest sliver of brown skin at her waist. 

 The sound of steam being let out in the cafe was jarring enough to break Yoongi of his gawking. Clearing his throat he scanned the street to make sure everything was still going okay. There wasn’t really anything for him to check if he was being honest, between Wynter’s protection wards, which made it damn near impossible for him to even get within a five mile radius of the shop, and his own boundary wards nothing was getting in or out. 

Yoongi would say that he was bored but watching Wynter wasn’t boring, and this fact irked him. Here he was a powerful upper demon, known for his ruthless lack of mercy on anyone who dare summon him, playing bodyguard to an unknown foreigner, no matter how pretty she happens to be. Though playing bodyguard to a pretty woman was much better than trying to sort out whatever mess he had gotten himself, and in turn Hoseok, into. 

He did feel bad for just up and disappearing but he knew the Hoseok would find him eventually. When Yoongi had left him he had been trying to convince Yoongi that he should take up the mantel of leader of the unintentional rebellion he had started. Though how him just ignoring Jungsoo’s orders and abandoning his post lead to hundreds of other demons doing the same still baffled him; but Hobi was convinced that it was the beginning of the end of Jungsoo reign.

            Running his hand over his face, Yoongi took a sip of his iced americano and turned his attention back to his pretty charge. He hadn’t seen the shaman that owned the bookstore, but Wynter’s unwavering defense of the man set Yoongi on edge. He was unsure if he could trust the shaman with Wynter’s care until he could get a read on him, himself.  Yoongi sat there ready to escort Wynter home after her shift. Watching her close the shop down and wave towards the back curtain to who he assumes is the shaman.

            Yoongi locked eyes with Wynter when she walked out of the door. She wanted to ignore him and walked pass like he didn’t exist, but he caught up to her pretty quickly. “Have you been staring at me all day?” The thought of him just creepily staring at her through the shop sent a shiver up her spine. Was this what her life was going to be like until he inevitably whisked her away into some unknown plane of existence. He simply grunted in the affirmative and continued to walk with her silently.

            Wynter was happy it stopped raining, opting to walk to the small hole in the wall restaurant that was next to her apartment. She was slightly surprised by how hungry she was, but almost dying may do that to a person. All she knew was that there was a bowl of ramen waiting for her, maybe even two. “Where are we going?” Yoongi’s deep voice pulled Wynter from her thoughts of food and back to the fact that she had this pale ass demon following her around.

            “To get dinner,” Wynter said playfully. She snuck a glance at him, “Don’t you eat?”   

            “Only the souls of unsuspecting innocents,” he deadpanned. Wynter stopped walking and stared at him. Yoongi stared back, face unwavering before he lips pulled up into a smirk and he continued walking.

            “Was that sarcasm?” Wynter jogged slightly to catch up to him.

Kwon’s was a small and cozy ramen shop that reminded Wynter of the one she used to go to back home that was owned by the only Korean folks in her small town. The tiny bell dinged as Wynter and Yoongi entered. “Hello- oh hello Wynter!” Mrs. Kwon greeted as she continued to roll gimbap. Taking her normal seat in the booth in the corner, Wynter dropped her raincoat and bag next to her. Yoongi set across from her and grabbed a menu.

 “Did you want your normal, dear?” Mrs. Kwon walked over patting her pocket looking for her notepad. “Oh, also my son is in town and as I was saying the other day I think you two would-“  Mrs. Kwon stopped short as she took in the fact that Wynter wasn’t sitting alone like normal, but that a handsome young man was across from her. She stared owlishly at Yoongi. “I’m sorry young man I didn’t even notice you, what can I get for you?”

Wynter glanced at Yoongi over the top of her menu to see him staring over at her like a little lost demon puppy. His tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously as he tried to construct a sentence in his head. He wasn’t one to be left speechless often but between the old lady who was obviously staring holes into the side of his head and Wynter who looked like she was taking great pleasure in watching him suffer, his mind blanked. 

“He’ll take my usual. Mrs. Kwon this is my new roommate, Yoongi.” Wynter decided to be nice and save him. “I’m just showing him the best places to eat.” She could see Yoongi visible relax after her brief introduction. 

“You flatter me too much Wynter,” Mrs. Kwon waved her hand in the air and ran off to the kitchen to prepare the food. They sat in silence for a bit. It wasn’t awkward or unpleasant, just silent. Yoongi seemed to be looking at anything but her and Wynter seemed to be more interested in the chopsticks in front of her. Neither really knowing what to say to the other. 

“So,” Wynter started, figuring that Yoongi wasn’t. “ How long have you’ve been a demon for?” The look that Yoongi gave her was a cross between incredulous and amused. 

“That’s your first question?” When Wynter just kept staring at him expectantly he rolled his eyes and answered, “I don’t know I guess it’s been almost 300 years.”

“Damn!” Wynter cringed at her initial response. If Yoongi was offended his face gave nothing away. “My bad.” Mrs. Kwon came back with their food giving Wynter a moment to figure out how she was gonna revive the conversation. She had questions and if Yoongi was gonna be with her for the foreseeable future it would probably be best to have a little information on him. “Um, you don’t look a day over 30 so that good.” Trailing off she stuffed her mouth with ramen before she could say anything further to embarrass herself. 

“Hmm. Dying does that I guess.” Wynter didn’t really know how to respond to his answer so she didn’t figuring he didn’t want to talk about it. She guessed if she died and became a demon she wouldn’t want to talk about it either. But really how does one even become a demon. Like do you  just die or do you like make a deal. Yoongi watched Wynter as she ate. Her thoughts going a mile a minute in the foreign language. He knew that it was gonna irk him that he couldn’t understand her thoughts. Guess he was just gonna have to learn a new language. 

“Why are you here in Korea?” His baritone voice jolted Wynter out of her thought spiral. “Not to be rude or anything but clearly you don’t belong in this country.”

What the actual fuck? Who just says that to people? Wynter’s face pulled itself into a deep scowl cause how dare he says she doesn’t belong. “Well excuse me for wanting to see the world. I know you’re ancient and all but this country is slightly more diverse this millennium.” Yoongi scoffed as he continued to eat. “If you must know I’m here as part of my final test.”

Wynter watched Yoongi quirk an eyebrow waiting for her to elaborate. Heaving a sigh Wynter elaborated, “So I don’t know how they do stuff here, but where I’m from when a rootworker starts coming into themselves they have to leave home to establish themself in a community. It’s essentially kicking them out the proverbial nest and forcing them to learn how to fly on their own.” She slurped the rest of her ramen up as she thought about home and how much she missed it. 

“Do most rootworkers choose to go this far? Also what is a rootworker even?” Yoongi had been around for longer than he cared to admit and he had never heard that word before. He was used to dealing with your run of the mill witches, warlocks, shamans, which is the category most magic users fell into in Korea, with some outliers.

Wynter laughed softly as she tried to think of the most comparable thing. “It’s kind of like,” she placed her chopsticks against her lips as she thought. Yoongi tried, and failed not to stare at them. “It’s kind of like a shaman here I guess. We mostly work with herbs and different types of plant roots. Thus the term rootworker, but we also work in the spirit realm to dig up the root of different problems or ailments. My family specializes in exorcisms and cleansings.”

Interesting enough that made perfect sense to Yoongi. Her protection wards were some of the strongest he had seen in a while. Anyone can make ward to stop demons or ghost from getting in, you only get as good as Wynter was if you’re trying to keep something from getting out. “As far as how far we venture out, most folks just go to the next town over, sometimes the next state, but I’m ambitious.” Wynter leaned back as she drunk some of the soju. The sweet tasting alcohol making her feel a bit more at ease in Yoongi’s intimidating presence. “I understand that there is more magical knowledge in the world than I can even begin to fathom and I want to learn as much of it as I can.”

Wynter smiled to herself, remembering how both her mom and nana tried to talk her out of leaving. They both thought that it was too far away after what had happened. That she needed to be close to home, to family, to the ancestors. Clearly she didn’t agree since she was halfway around the world. 

“What happens if you fail?” Yoongi ventured to ask. Wynter tensed up a bit at his question. Her mind going suspiciously quiet at the inquiry. It only ever happened when someone was actively trying not to think of something. Yoongi filed away asking what she was hiding for later. He was going to be spending a lot of time with her for the foreseeable future. He didn’t need to know all of her secrets yet. 

“Um, you go back home until you’re ready to try again. Home is always welcoming. Always there. It’s not meant to punish failure. It’s meant to help the practitioner grow.” Wynter paused trying to not remember her failure. “This is my second attempt.” She downed another shot of her soju before changing the subject. “I feel like I’ve just been talking about myself. What about you?”

“What about me?” Yoongi gave her the out. He would have plenty of time to pry whatever secrets she was hiding out of her. 

“You know? Any cool powers or like background? I didn’t really get to research you, for obvious reasons.” She laughed out. Yoongi hated how nice her laugh sounded. It was deep and rich and it made you want to keep hearing it. 

“Pyromancy and telekinesis, plus some other ones I’ve collected over the years,” he shrugged as he finished eating his food. 

“I’m sorry you can read minds,” Yoongi looked up to see Wynter staring at him in awe. Her brown eyes big and wide with interest. “Ooo! What am I thinking about?” All Yoongi heard was a bunch of gibberish and saw some random scenes. 

“I don’t know? I don’t speak your language.” 

“Well that makes sense.” Wynter mumbled. “Oh! What about this?” Yoongi watched Wynter pick up a glass of ice water and throw it on him. The water running down his face and onto the table. It wasn’t until he seen himself as a wet grumpy cat did he realize what she had done. It was rare for someone to be able to place such a vivid thought in his mind. 

Closing his eyes, Yoongi took a deep breathe. “First off, don’t do that again,” Wynter shivered at the slight chill of energy coming off of Yoongi. “Second off, I am not a cat.” There was a slight blush on his face as he said the last part. It was cute but Wynter choose to ignore the urge to coo at him. Feeling as though he wouldn’t be really receptive of it. 

“Duly noted. I’ll only use it in cases of emergencies. Like if I get kidnapped or fall down a well or something and you need to find me.” She nodded her head before making eye contact with Mrs. Kwon to grab the check. Wynter paid as she figured that Yoongi would have no money. Mrs. Kwon reminded Wynter that her son would be helping her out for the next few days and that she would love to introduce them. Wynter told her that she would swing by if she could but she made no promises. 

Luckily they made it home before the rain picked back up for the night. The sound of the raindrops bouncing off the windows made for wonderful white noise. “Make yourself at home I guess,” Wynter waved around to her small studio as she made her way to the bathroom yawning. She was absolutely exhausted. Her body feeling as though it was dragging through mud as she went through her night routine. She put her hair in a pineapple, hoping that the curls wouldn’t become too frizzy during the night. 

“Yoongi,” Wynter called out as she rummaged underneath her cabinet. She was sure she had an extra toothbrush and stuff under there. While she didn’t have people over often, she was always taught to be prepared cause you never knew who was gonna drop by. 

“Yeah.” Yoongi stifled a laugh as Wynter hit her head on the cabinet. He hadn’t meant to startle her but her sitting on the floor rubbing the back of her head was kind of amusing. 

“I’m gonna have to get you a fucking bell,”she mumbled as she stood up. Wynter adjusted her sleep shorts as she turned to hand Yoongi the small toiletries bag she had made. “Here, I’m unsure of what all you need to do to take care of yourself as a demon but I figured you probably didn’t have anything so,” Wynter cut herself off after  feeling herself start to ramble. 

Yoongi looked down at the little bag in his hands. It was a deep green and had little cartoon cats sleeping on it. He didn’t really need to do anything if he didn’t want to. His demonic energy purifying him on a loop. It was a neat trick to stay clean when showers where few and far between that Yoongi had just always kept up cause he was in heart of hearts lazy. “Thanks. Do you mind if I use the bathroom?” She simply smiled and nodded as she left the small bathroom. 

Something about Wynter taking the time to make him feel comfortable made him want to put in some effort. He waited until the water became warm in the shower before he hopped in. It had been a long time since he had gotten to take one, something the aches in his body reminded him of. The way that Jungsoo had him running around Yoongi barely had anytime to relax. He tried not to think of the massive amount of shit he was in for accidentally starting a rebellion. He was just so tired of being a puppet. He honestly didn’t expect people to follow him out though.

In truth he was glad for the reprieve that Wynter calling him brought. He could hide out here until the fanfare died down or Jungsoo forgot about him. Though he doubted the last one would happen. Skipping out on a demonic contract was a big no-no. Wynter’s wards were strong enough to hide his presence for the time being. Finishing up he conjured up a pair of soft gray pajama pants and a matching cotton t-shirt. Yoongi walked out to Wynter putting some blankets and pillows on her couch. 

She was bent over the couch fluffing the pillows to make sure that they were nice and comfy for him. Her ass on full display in her tiny pink sleep shorts. Wynter looked over her shoulder to find that Yoongi had left the bathroom. “So you can make clothes?” She noted that he was currently in some, what looked like comfy, pjs. Wynter walked over to him with her hand on her hip. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi cleared his throat. “Cloths are easy to make.” 

Wynter hmm in response. “Well I tried to make the couch as comfy as I could for you, but I’m not sure how good I did.” They both looked at the couch recognizing that the dingy couch she salvaged off the street was way to small to hold Yoongi comfortably. Normally she would just offer her bed but if he wanted to butt his way into her life he got to deal with the uncomfy consequences. Patting him on the shoulder she made her way to her bed, turning off the bedside lamp,  and climbing under peach comforter. 

Yoongi stared down at where her hand had touched him. Unuse to anyone touching him so causally he tried not to let the warmth that she had linger on him for too long, shaking the odd feeling off. Making his way over to the couch he laid down. The springs groaning at his weight as he sunk further down into the cushions. The blankets were soft and warm and he pulled them up, tucking them underneath his chin. Yoongi couldn’t fathom why he didn’t do this more often. Demons didn’t need sleep and he knows he hasn’t slept in over a century; his mind to preoccupied with thoughts of past mistakes.  He doubted that he would sleep at all tonight but it at least felt nice to rest. 

“Did you find anything out today about who may have cursed you?” They had been sitting there for over an hour in the dark. The only sounds the monsoon raging outside the apartment windows. Yoongi could tell Wynter hadn’t fallen asleep, the smell of her fear filling the apartment like a gas leak. He decided that he didn’t care for the scent of dead roses, it made his nose itch. 

Wynter continued to stare at the ceiling as she tried to calm herself. She could feel a panic attack forming deep in her chest. The feeling of the walls closing in around her as she kept telling herself that she was safe and that everything was okay. She faintly heard Yoongi’s questions. Struggling to take in enough air speak. His face appeared over hers as she tried to get enough breath. Yoongi’s eyes full of indifference as he spoke. “You’re fine. Try to match my breathing.” They took deep breathes for a bit as Yoongi rubbed her arms knowing that she needed something to ground her. His hands messaging her upper arms trying to get her body to relax. 

It took awhile but Wynter finally felt herself come back into her body. Yoongi helping her to slowly sit up in the bed. He let go of her as soon as she was stable enough. Wynter felt herself heating up in embarrassment, cause she hasn’t had a panic attack like that in years. With shaking hands she reached up to wipe the tears that had escaped. “Thanks,” she whispered into the darkness of the apartment, unable to look Yoongi in the eye. 

“It’s normal after a death curse,” Yoongi was just as quiet as Wynter. “They have long term effects on the victims if they don’t work.” Once completed the curse needed to complete it’s mission. If averted it’ll keeping trying to kill the victim but most times it just turns back onto the one who placed the curse. If it was effecting Wynter this much it just meant that whoever placed the death curse knew what they were doing.

A laugh of disbelief escaped Wynter’s plush lips as tried to wrap her head around the fact that she was gonna have to deal with  long term effects of this bullshit. Just another layer of shit on this already shitty situation. “Do you have any idea who would do this to you?” Yoongi’s question gently pulled Wynter back to the present.

Sniffling Wynter cleared her throat, “Um - the only person I can think of would be Jiyeon. She’s one of the regulars at the bookstore.” Wynter’s face scrunched as she tried to think of a reason the woman would want to hurt her. “I thought we were becoming friends,” She whispered to herself. “I don’t know what her motive would be. I don’t even have any hard evidence to prove that it was her only this sinking feeling.” Wynter placed her hand on her stomach where a weight had settled, pinning her to the truth of her words. 

“That’s good. You should trust you instincts.” Yoongi assured her. While unusual for someone to place a death curse on someone unwarranted, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He would have to some digging into this Jiyeon’s past and see if she was hiding something. In order to dispel the curse someone had to die so they had to be sure that this was the right person. 

“Keep looking into the curse. Find any and everything you can about death curses. Go on as normal, cause if it is her we don’t want to give away that we’re on to her.” Yoongi knew a lot of things but this particular death curse was one he hadn’t seen before and he had honestly just gotten lucky he could avert it. If a lesser demon had come Wynter would be dead and that made Yoongi feel an emotion that he promptly buried deep. “Look we can strategize tomorrow. Get some rest.” 

Yoongi watched Wynter as she nodded numbly with a far away look in her eyes. He placed his hand lightly on her forehead forcing her to sleep cause he knew she wasn’t going to. Tucking her back into bed he took her in -  glad he could get the crease that worried the space between her brows to smooth out. The gentle way her nose sloped before it flared out. How soft her lips looked.  She looked peaceful in that moment, her bold features relaxed. He felt a pull in his chest. It was light but it was there, Yoongi rubbed his hand over his heart that had long since stopped beating confused.

#bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts x black reader #yoongi x black reader

[it-happened-one-fic]

Dead of the Night - Diluc (Part 1)

Author's Notes: This is the first part of my Halloween/October fic series for Genshin Impact! This is going to be a Vampire! AU, so heads up for the folks who don't like vampires. I wrote and edited this series exclusively to "Is this Love" by Whitesnake which did kind of influence how this series came together. Also, this a fair bit more lengthy than my usual works. As per usual, Reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-Neutral Reader/ Vampire! AU/ pining/ romance/ some drama/ fluff with a touch of angst

Word Count: 2578

{Part 1: You're here!}, {Part 2}, {Part 3}, {Part 4}

Also available on AO3 (link deleted due to glitches)

Trigger Warning: Reader does get attacked by a vampire, but all is well.

I frowned up at the grey clouds overhead that were currently hiding the usually glorious sunset that no doubt painted the sky the same colors as the autumn leaves that clung to trees in a show of their final glory before they fell under the pressure of the strong October winds.

But I wasn’t frowning because I couldn’t see the sunset. No, I was frowning because the forecast called for it to be overcast for the entirety of October, which meant one thing. 

And that one thing was the very subject that I could already hear being discussed loudly at Angel’s Share as I approached the tavern to meet up with my friends. 

“It’s bad enough that it’s October, but it's supposed to be overcast for the entire month now! How are we going to survive the annual influx of vampires when the bold ones will even be out during the day?!”

I sighed at the overly loud shouts from the other people at the tavern, but it came as no surprise. The normally laid-back people of Mondstadt had gotten into the habit of becoming uncharacteristically tense in October, when I’d still been young.

It was back then that they’d come with the Fatui, the vampires. A plague from the cold lands of Snezhnaya, where they thrived in the terminally overcast conditions. They had followed the Fatui, probably laying hidden within their ranks, and come to Mondstadt in my youth. And ever since then, there had been vampires in the land of freedom.

They usually remained quiet, with few attacks ever being heard of. But for unknown reasons, they always seemed to become agitated around the time of Halloween, with October being noted as a month full of attacks. 

Usually everyone got their work done during daylight hours and stayed indoors with every conceivable entrance locked as soon as dusk came. But this year it would be overcast throughout October, and, just as the man had loudly explained, some vampires would inevitably take advantage of the lack of sunlight.

“Loud crowd tonight, hm?” I lifted my shoulder in a half-shrug at Kaeya’s words. It was nice to see that even now Kaeya was managing to be as relaxed as ever, despite the gossip flying around about vampires.

“I can’t really blame them, but I’m sure it’s rowdy with the Knights of Favonius too,” I smiled sympathetically at the calvary captain as I sat down next to him. Watching as he swirled the liquid in his mug.

“When is it not? Jean is taking precautions, though,” Kaeya leaned back in his seat, giving me a look that told me everything I needed to know. Just like always, poor Jean was probably overworking herself and doing her very best to soothe a public who would not be soothed.

“I just hope this doesn’t get in the way of the festivals,” Venti frowned poutily at his wine bottle, earning a grin from both me and Kaeya as we both looked towards the sulky bard. But Venti did love festivals. It was a good time for him to perform for joyful festivalgoers and also get wine for cheap.

“What’ll it be, Y/n?” I blinked in surprise at the voice that sounded from behind me, causing me to twist in my seat to look wide-eyed up at the redhead that I definitely had not been expecting to see but who was currently looking down at me as calmly as ever.

Even though he owned the establishment, it was odd to see Diluc at Angel’s Share. He was usually busy dealing with his massive wine business. Either from abroad, dealing with local merchants, or at the Dawn Winery, one.

“I’ll…. Just some Sweet Cider Lake... Thanks,” I faltered under his expectant gaze, but if he noticed, he didn’t react. Instead, he just nodded and headed off towards the counter to prepare my drink.

But unlike his lack of noticing my faltering, I twisted to find my two friends wearing matching grins as they watched me.

I scowled slightly at the two men, only for Venti to let out a mischievous giggle as Kaeya chuckled and held up his hands as if he were surrendering, “Alright, sorry. I should’ve warned you he was here today.”

I crossed my arms, watching Kaeya closely as he smiled far too smugly down at the warmed wine that he continued to swirl in his mug even as I began to question him, “And is that why you wanted to meet up here today?”

The man’s single visible eye widened at my words, and he pressed one hand to his chest, “What? Of course not! I simply wanted my good friends to partake of these delicious seasonal drinks, that’s all.”

His honeyed tone was impressive, but I was hardly convinced. 

I didn’t get to say anything, though, since Venti spoke up before I could. Leaning forward with a grin as he eyed Kaeya, “Oho, So you’re going to be buying our drinks then?”

I twisted to look towards Kaeya, so that me and Venti were both looking at the cavalry captain expectantly as he raised his hand in laughing surrender, “Just one round.”

“You’ll all need to be headed home at that point anyway… It’ll be getting late,” Diluc’s voice came from behind me, and it caused me to still once more as he sat down my mug.

His bright red eyes flickered my way from where he’d leaned over to set down my drink, meeting my gaze as he gave the slightest of head nods, “Enjoy.”

It was odd. Speaking to him this way. Ever since that day all those years ago, he’d become more withdrawn. 

Just like everyone else in Mondstadt who’d been close to him as a child, I’d awaited his return from his journeys. Praying that, with time, he’d recover from the wounds of his past. But when he’d finally come back, he was still changed, and I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any less considering what he’d experienced.

By now, I was used to it, so in no way was his distantly polite behavior strange to me. But, nonetheless, it was still odd when I talked to him considering that, unlike our other friends, the two of us had never managed to reconnect since our youth.

It was a distant sensation, speaking to someone I’d once been so close to but now seldom saw. Almost like I was looking at him from a long way off, even though he was right next to me.

And I didn’t even know which one of us maintained the distance. Only that it remained between us.

I nodded though, my voice coming out unintentionally soft as I responded with a quiet, “Thank you.”

It was this strangeness, I was certain, that had caused so many to believe that I was smitten with Diluc. And though it was true that I did like Diluc, it was also true that, for the most part, the strange taint to our interactions was what made the atmosphere so awkward.

If anyone realized that, it was Kaeya. Because even though he teased me, he would sometimes go out of his way to have the two of us meet up. Almost like he was trying to ease that strange tension.

Even now, he watched the two of us closely. His brother as he walked away from the table with his usual calmness, and me as I looked away from my old friend and down at my drink. 

The sweet mixture of fruit juice and milk I recalled getting when I was young and always begging Crepus for a decorative cinnamon stick just like the one that currently swirled in my mug lazily.

It seemed that even despite this distance, Diluc still remembered things from our shared childhood. Even the little things.

Conversation flowed freely between me, Venti, and Kaeya. With the cavalry captain keeping his promise and buying each of us another round of drinks before we began to trickle out the door with fond farewells on our lips. 

I lingered the longest, my brain having been preoccupied ever since I’d begun pondering what it was that had changed all those years ago in my interactions with Diluc. 

Was the reason our relationship had not progressed since then my fault? It was possible, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t made an effort. In fact, I’d been one of the first ones to go and welcome him back home when he’d first returned.

I couldn’t blame him either, though. He hadn’t been cold or tried to drive me off in any way. Rather, it was like we drifted apart in the most natural of ways. But it still left a sadness in my heart when I thought about what, exactly, had become of our friendship.

I stood, turning to head towards the door, only to be stopped by a cautious hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Diluc looking at me, his other hand resting on the table that he’d no doubt just come to clean before closing the tavern for the night.

“Be careful going home. Night has already fallen.” Unlike his usual words, these seemed to be tinged with unsteady awkwardness. Almost like he, too, was at long last feeling that same tension that I’d felt all this time.

But I was relieved nonetheless, and I smiled at him, “I will be. But you ought to be careful as well. After all, you’ll be leaving even later than I will.”

A smile flitted across Diluc’s face, so fast that if I’d blinked, I would have missed it before he shook his head, “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you, though. Take care Y/n.”

I left Angel’s Share with a smile still on my face and a brief wave towards the young man, who was once a close friend and now wasn’t quite a stranger. I knew him too well for that to ever be the case.

 Even if the Diluc I’d gotten to know had been the young one, some of the same things still held true for the man that had been true for the boy. And, strangely, it was a comfort to know that. 

I glanced up at the sky as I strolled down the street, noting how the clouds had cleared so that the starry sky was perfectly visible. I smiled to myself at the common sight.

 Perhaps all of October wouldn’t be cloudy, and it would be just as normal as could be, with one only having to be careful of vampires at night.

No sooner than those thoughts had registered, than the sound of something on the rooftops just next to me had me freezing in the darkened street. 

I frowned almost immediately as the sounds stopped at the very same moment my footsteps had halted. But those sounds had been too heavy to be one of the cats from the Cat’s Tail.

With a creeping feeling of dread as all of those comments about vampires came back to haunt me, I turned and looked up.

I swallowed thickly as I gazed up at the ominous silhouette that I was almost positive did not belong to the rumored Darknight Hero. And when the man leapt down, landing easily on the stone pathway in front of me, I didn't wait to find out. Instead, I turned and ran. Bolting down the pathway only to hear the sound of heavy footfalls that signaled that I was indeed being chased.

Internally, I cursed myself for having become so lost in my thoughts earlier that I let the hour get so late. If I hadn’t been so busy thinking about the past and how it had led to the present, I wouldn’t have been in this situation. I would be at home, safe and sound. Free to mope over Diluc in safety.

But thinking about it wouldn’t change anything now, and it certainly wouldn’t help me get away from the creature chasing me.

My hand grasped a light pole as I practically threw myself around a corner and used the pole to help myself keep up my momentum.

The only reason I hadn’t been caught yet was the adrenaline I could feel pumping through my veins, but it would only last so long, and the moment it ran out, I’d be caught. 

After all, it was common knowledge that vampires could go at incredible speeds, and, judging from the lack of heavy breathing to accompany the racing footsteps behind me, my pursuer wasn’t entirely mortal. Or at the very least, if they were, they had incredible stamina.

I slipped on the cobblestones but kept going, my feet digging at the smooth pathway that usually made for nice strolling. But it wasn’t enough. 

Arms snatched at me, forcing me to the ground as I fought back. Kicking out and rolling all at once. As if looking up at my assailant could help.

And, sure enough, the fanged face that greeted me confirmed my fears. Despite the warnings I’d heard for the better part of my life, I’d gotten myself caught by a vampire. 

There were no questions as to what was going to happen next, even as I struggled in its inhumanly strong grasp. Doing everything I could to break free, even though every logical part of me knew my chances were slim at best.

For unknown reasons, I didn’t scream. But tears stung at my eyes as it bared its teeth at me, a hissing sound emitting from its mouth before it made a mad dive for my neck.

I jerked my chin down and over my neck in a feeble attempt to protect myself, even as I squeezed my eyes shut. But the painful sensation of its bite never came.

Instead, the vampire was ripped off of me with a howl of rage that had my eyes flying back open almost immediately, only to see the creature get flung across the street.

I scrambled backwards, looking up with wide eyes, to see the incredibly familiar but unexpected sight of flaming red hair that clearly gave away my savior’s identity.

A curse fell from the vampire’s lips, causing me to flinch slightly as my gaze darted back where it crawled out of the now-cracked fountain with a snarl, “You have no claim on them. Find your own food.”

Food…? What?

My eyes darted back towards where Diluc stood, calmly fixing his glove as he stayed between me and the vampire, “As if you have some sort of claim to them. It’s high time you crawled back into whatever hole you came from.”

His voice was beyond cold. Far icier than I’d ever heard him sound before, but then I’d never seen Diluc like this either.

The vampire gave a wheezy snort of laugh as it shook itself off, patting at its sleeves in an almost mocking way, “As if a child like you could make me. You aren’t even a clan leader, just a pathetic loner who's in denial.”

It stepped back with one foot, rolling its shoulders in a way that could only be described as predatory, and had me grimacing as I pressed myself back further still, even as I kept staring at the scene before me. Somehow unable to look away despite desperately wanting to escape this moment.

“I suppose some before-meal exercise is in order, though,” Its voice was haughty as it spoke, a glint to its eyes right before it dove forward. Arms outstretched and fangs bared as it launched at Diluc, who, at odds with the creature, stood firm.

In fact, he seemed utterly calm as he reached and grabbed the hilt of the claymore that appeared out of thin air the very moment he needed it. 

“Very well,” His voice was calm but held an undertone of irritation as his hand curled firmly around his weapon's hilt. But then, as he swung his weapon, I could see that his face set with a special sort of rage as the weapon sliced through the creature and flames ignited along its blade right as he bellowed, “BURN!”

And in the light of those flames, I saw something so incredibly simple that made my blood run cold. Because as I looked at his enraged profile while he shouted that condemning word and the vampire caught fire and incinerated at unnatural speeds, I stared at a sight that horrified me far more.

The two sharp fangs, that perfectly explained what the vampire had meant when it had mentioned food earlier.

*Sweet Cider Lake is a drink from the Drink a-dreaming event. It was made with juice and milk.

@vera-deville

#Genshin Impact imagines #Diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #Genshin Impact #Genshin x reader #Vampire AU #Vampire!Diluc #gender neutral reader #pining #romance #vampires #October #Halloween #AU #Diluc x you #Diluc x y/n #Genshin impact x reader #Genshin impact x you #Genshin impact x y/n #Genshin x you #Genshin x y/n #drama #fluff with angst #fluff #fanfiction #mywritings #it-happened-one-fic #featuring Venti and Kaeya #Mondstadt #Vampire au

[cheesiedomino]

When Worlds Collide Pt 2.

genre: non-idol au, college au, established relationship, hyunjin x fem!reader, badboy!hyunjin x innocent!reader, pg-15

wc: 6.2k 

tags/warnings: fluff, angst, kissing, cursing, themes of anxiety and insecurities (regarding the reader), alcohol usage, mentions of drugs (weed), has some suggestive moments but nothing that detailed, some violence (fighting), faint mentions of blood, that’s all i think but if i missed anything let me know please !

synopsis: now that you’re dating Hyunjin, things are going seemingly well and he does his best to try and be a good boyfriend for you. you feel as though you have finally found your person, but one night was all it took to cause a shift in your relationship, for better or for worse.

{a/n: hello everyone! i just want to take a moment to thank everyone that’s read the first part of When Worlds Collide. i’m glad so many people liked it and since i planned on making a part 2 anyway i’m more than excited to post this :) i hope you all enjoy it and as always feedback and your opinions are much appreciated, thank you <3}

You look at yourself through the mirror, you just couldn’t stop staring. It wasn’t because you thought you looked spectacular or anything, it was because you looked different. As in a completely different person that you couldn’t even recognize yourself. You were wearing the most skin-tight black dress with high heels, you did your makeup in a way that you’ve never done before, and you even put on lipstick, which is something you never wear. You wanted to surprise Hyunjin, your boyfriend, with your new look. 

‘He won't see this coming from a mile away’ you thought as you giggled to yourself, getting ready to go to a party with him. However, the confidence that you had a few hours ago came crashing down once the full look was complete. You just didn’t feel like yourself at all. You keep repeating in your head that this wasn’t about you and this was for Hyunjin, if he likes it that’s all that matters to you. You were also going to meet his other fraternity brothers tonight so you prepared conversations in your head to make sure you won’t royally fuck everything up. You wish your roommate Sana was here right now so she could give you words of encouragement but unfortunately she had to do something for her sorority. You felt so alone without her at times but Hyunjin has thankfully filled that void for you. 

As you finally semi-come to terms with the way you looked you sit on your bed and text your boyfriend to ask where he is, texting you back almost immediately.

‘Had 2 pick up stuff b there in 10’ 

You’re so used to his grade school grammar over text that you simply don’t pay much attention to it anymore.

‘Okay see you soon! I have a surprise for you ;)’ You cringed as you typed that winky face out.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a surprise for a reason!’

‘Haha ok’

You’re so nervous at this point, you don’t know what he’s going to think. What will his friends think? You’re now back to overthinking every little thing. You want to run to your closet and change really quick to something that you’re actually comfortable in. But you don’t, you want to fully commit to this plan, this idea that you’ll look like Hyunjin’s dream girl. Hyunjin is the first boyfriend you’ve ever had, growing up in the small town you did, you didn’t have many good options. All the boys that lived in your town were not your type at all, they all had conservative views and were extremely judgmental. You swore you’d never date a man like that. The boys you have “dated” before were terrible and they would just go for someone else that they deemed was more attractive. 

You felt like a second choice all the time but Hyunjin has never made you feel that way. He’s always telling you how lucky he is to have you, holds hands with you on campus, and even skips going out to be with you if you ask. It’s nice that he does all those things for you but in the back of your mind, you still feel as though you’re not good enough, as if he’s made a mistake. That’s why you’re in the predicament you’re in now, fighting a battle with yourself over the way you look just to get Hyunjin’s attention, which is something you quite literally already have. Your thoughts were halted by your phone vibrating. You look at the notification and it’s from Hyunjin saying that he’s here. 

You let out a deep sigh as you tried your best to prepare yourself to even look Hyunjin in the eye right now. You should be feeling confident in this new look but all you feel is dread and doubt. 

There’s no turning back now so you just grab your bag and start heading out the door. You see the red-headed boy outside leaning on his car like he always does, looking down at his phone. You don’t think Hyunjin heard you walk out since his stance hasn’t changed once from you heading towards him. As you get closer you clear your throat loud enough to get him to hear you, his head automatically shot up. As you accidentally make eye contact with him you begin to panic. His whole facial expression changed, he went from looking relaxed to now being dumbfounded. His eyes grew wide and his mouth was slightly open. It was as if he’d seen a ghost or something. You walked up to him, still no words coming out of Hyunjin’s mouth. 

“Well, what do you think?” You say giving him a weary smile, trying not to hide the obvious fact that you’re anxious out of your mind over his opinion. 

He still doesn’t say a word, all he’s doing is looking at you up and down, if looks could kill, his gaze would have you in a coffin right now. 

“Earth to Hyunjin?” You say waving a hand in front of his face, making sure he’s okay.

He blinks a couple of times in a row and finally speaks “So this is my surprise?” 

“Yeah… what do you think of it?” You say as you look at the ground.

“You wanna know my honest opinion?” 

‘Yes, that was literally the whole point of doing all of this!’ you think to yourself.

“Y-yes..” Is all you muttered though.

“I think you look smoking hot” He admits. 

That was all you needed to hear from him. It was like you could finally breathe again. 

“You’re so sexy, baby. I could just eat you whole right now.” He says while licking his lips. 

Well, you weren’t expecting him to say all that. You never had someone call you sexy before and it made you feel something. Something that you’ve never felt before. All you could do was blush and say thank you though.

“I swear if I have to fight someone tonight over you looking this hot you better not be angry with me,” Hyunjin says as he opens his car door for you. 

“There will be no fighting!” You say, getting into the car, as you do Hyunjin lightly slaps your butt which startled you. You were about to tell him to stop but you remind yourself that he is your boyfriend and he’s allowed to joke around with you like this. You’re so inexperienced with relationships that you’re not even sure how one acts when they’re in one. 

As Hyunjin is driving he tries stealing quick glances over at you, he couldn’t help but stare at you every chance he got. You noticed him doing this and you giggled, 

“What are you looking at?” You ask him, you know what he’s looking at, you just wanted to act oblivious. 

“I’m looking at you baby, you’re kinda driving me insane right now not gonna lie.” He says. 

This made you feel that same rush you were feeling when he called you sexy, he’s never said any of these kinds of things to you. Maybe this new getup wasn’t so bad for you after all, you’re getting your boyfriend all worked up to this party and now he won’t be able to control himself in front of his friends. You were still nervous about meeting everyone though and parties aren’t really your thing so you won’t even be mad if Hyunjin wants to leave early to go back and make out with you. 

“Okay we’re here,” He says, coming to a stop in front of a large house. It was a tad bit smaller than Sana’s sorority house but it was still gorgeous nonetheless. You get out of the car and Hyunjin immediately grabs your waist. He’s being so possessive right now and you couldn’t help but find it endearing. As you both walk in you see the colorful disco ball on the ceiling, you see tons and tons of people, your anxiety shoots right back up, it’s now sinking in that you’re here. You haven’t gone to a party since that night you met Hyunjin and it’s bringing flashbacks from that night. You remembered everything so vividly as if it was just yesterday. Had you not said yes to Sana’s offer you would still be single. You find that insane and you couldn’t be more than grateful for what happened. You sometimes want to thank Sana for being your roommate since if this all wasn’t for her, you would be cooped up in your room all day. 

“Come over here,” Hyunjin says to you as he sits on an empty couch, you sit next to him. 

“Seriously?” He says, frowning at you, at that point you knew what he actually wanted. 

You stand up and sit back down, this time you’re on his lap. 

“Better.” He smiles and puts his head on your shoulder, his arms are hugging you from behind and you felt so appreciated in this moment. You caught a couple of girls staring at you and you wanted to crawl up into a ball from all the attention. You knew that Hyunjin was popular but the fact that almost every girl seemed to hiss with envy really took you aback. You felt so out of place like you didn’t belong there with him. You just wanted to run and hide. 

“Babe,” Hyunjin whispers in your ear.

“Yes?” 

“Kiss me.” He says bluntly.

You looked around and felt so awkward. Girls were still staring and it made you feel so uncomfortable. 

“But there are people staring.” You tell him, scared of what those people might say about what you’re doing. 

“You think I really give a shit? Let them watch.” He says grabbing your face with his right hand, he brought your lips towards his. Your lips finally came in contact and it felt fiery. You could feel all of his pent-up emotions through the kiss and you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. His kisses are always so intoxicating, leaving you feeling drunk after them. Every time you stop, you want to go back for more. His tongue intertwines with yours, you fully shifted your entire body to be facing him now and you don’t even care who sees at this point. All you need is Hyunjin’s lips on yours and the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. 

“Damn bro, get a room!” You hear a man’s voice shouting at the two of you. 

You immediately pull away from him, getting off his lap, you felt so embarrassed now. You look up and see some guy you’ve never seen a day in your life. He was kinda short but he had a nice build and the smirk on his face was evident from what he had just seen.

“Fuck off Changbin.” Hyunjin retorts, crossing his arms at the man across from him.

“You must be y/n?” The man you’re assuming is named Changbin, asks you.

“Yes, that’s me.” You say shyly, too afraid to make eye contact with the guy. 

“This is my girlfriend.” Hyunjin says, putting his arm around you and kissing your cheek. 

“She’s cute, wonder how long this is gonna last!” The man says to Hyunjin, chuckling.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hyunjin says to him in a serious tone. “You’re really annoying, I hope you know that.”

“Whatever man.” The man rolls his eyes at him.

“Anyways… this is one of my fraternity brothers, Changbin.” Hyunjin finally properly introduces you to him. 

“Hi, Changbin, nice to meet you.” You say reaching out your head to give a handshake, however, he refuses the gesture. 

“Nice to meet you too y/n, we don’t shake hands around here, by the way, to properly introduce yourself in this house you need to take a shot!” 

You gulped as you heard him say that, you don’t enjoy drinking and it’s something you rarely engage in. ‘Just suck it up’ you think to yourself, if this is the way you need to get Hyunjin’s friend’s approval then so be it. 

“Oh okay,” You say as you start to get up from the couch, Hyunjin grabs your arm though.

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to, Changbin’s just being an ass right now.” He says to you.

“It’s okay Hyune, I want to” You reassure him. 

You get up to go into the kitchen with Changbin, Hyunjin is walking right behind you to make sure no funny business goes on. Changbin grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours it into three shot glasses, giving one to you, him, and Hyunjin. 

“You know I can’t say no to whiskey,” Hyunjin says to Changbin taking a swig of the whole thing already.

“Dude, you were supposed to wait until I counted to three!” Changbin says annoyed at Hyunjin’s low tolerance for being patient. 

“Pour another one then,” Hyunjin says giving his glass to Changbin.

He pours him another shot and Changbin finally starts counting, “Alright, 1, 2, 3, go!” 

You let the liquid consume you and your throat begins to burn. You regret drinking that immediately. You made a twisted face and put the shot glass down, coughing to clear your throat. The coughing only made the burning sensation in your throat worse. 

“How do you guys drink this stuff?” You ask the both of them, still trying to recover from it. 

“You just get used to it,” Changbin says shrugging his shoulders.

“Come upstairs the rest of us are up there,” Changbin says to Hyunjin. 

“The smoke room?” Hyunjin asks. ‘Smoke room?’ you think, this couldn’t be a room just designated to smoke in, that has to be some code name for something. 

“Yeah.” Changbin replies. 

“Come on let’s go y/n.” Hyunjin takes your hand in his as he follows Changbin up the staircase. 

You used your free hand to try and pull down your dress since it kept riding up, you never wore clothing this tight so it was quite annoying having to fix it every 5 seconds. As all three of you continue walking, Changbin stops at a door with a large sign on it, the sign read 'KNOCK BEFORE COMING IN OR ELSE'. You really weren’t sure why it said that but Changbin did as the sign was told and knocked on the door three times. You waited a bit then you heard some shuffling going on in the room,

“Who is it?” You heard a man’s voice from inside the room say.

“It’s just me bro.” Changbin answers. 

“Who else?” 

“Hyunjin too, he brought his girl with him.” 

There was silence for a bit after that, you could hear a girl giggling in the room as well. 

“Let them in.” You heard another voice say, probably to the person that was asking all the questions. The door suddenly cracks open and a head peeps through making sure it was the people that Changbin said were coming in. The door fully opens and a large cloud of smoke hits you in the face immediately. It was so foggy in the entire room you think to yourself that you’ll probably get a second-hand high from just being in here. You looked around to see 6 other men in the room, they were all watching something on the TV and that’s when you saw the person you were least expecting. Your roommate, Sana was in there too. She was talking and laughing with some guy, she had a joint in her hand and she looked so pretty as always. Sana looks up and sees you in the room with Hyunjin and Changbin, the look on her face was just priceless.

“Y/n?!” She says confused yet excited.

“Oh my god, Sana you’re here too?!” You were kind of relieved that she was, you have two of your most favorite people with you right now and you couldn’t be any happier. 

“I always come here to chill with my boys!” Sana exclaims, Changbin comes up to her to give her a hug. 

You should’ve known that she would be here, she’s practically best friends with everyone in this frat and her sorority sisters all love her to death. You can’t think of one person that dislikes her, she’s just so cool. 

The boys you haven’t met yet were all now staring at you, you hate when the spotlight is on you. You wish Hyunjin would hurry up and say something and your thoughts came true within seconds,

“Guys, this is my girlfriend y/n,” Hyunjin says introducing you to all of his friends, you felt so awkward with all of them just looking at you. The outfit you had on wasn’t making you feel any better. 

“Hi y/n, I’m Chan.” A man comes up to you to shake your hand, you took it and he smiled at you. 

“Nice to meet you.” You tell him.

“How long have you and Hyunjin been dating?” He asks.

Before you could answer though, Hyunjin responds for you, “A good amount of time.” is all he says.

Chan just chuckles, Hyunjin always says things in a condescending tone, as if he’s talking down to others. You don’t even know why people put up with it but they do, they adore Hyunjin for his blunt attitude and honesty. You hated the way he acted with you at first, however, your entire perception changed because of his actions towards you. He doesn’t act this way around you and you feel as though he’s his true self when he’s with you. He doesn’t put on a persona for you, he’s just Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin starts pointing to the other guys in the room, “That’s Seungmin, that’s Jeongin, that’s Felix, Minho, and… where’s Han?”

Everyone looks around to realize that Han was missing, you don’t even know who he is yet you want to know his whereabouts too. 

“He probably went to go take a shit,” Minho says laughing to himself as he drinks something out of a red cup. 

“Or went to fuck someone.” Felix chimes in on the conversation.

“I’ll go try and find him,” Hyunjin says, “Come with me.” He motions for you to take his hand and walk out of the room with him.

“You don’t want to smoke?” Jeongin asks Hyunjin as he’s walking out the door.

“Maybe in a bit,” He says.

You’re back to the party and there’s a swarm of people, Hyunjin pushes people out of the way trying to clear space for you. No one dares to say anything to him though since he is part of this frat and a lot of people are pretty scared of him. You feel like you’ve been walking for hours since the house was so big and you felt so tired. You were stopped in your tracks when a girl came up to Hyunjin, she was also wearing a very revealing outfit just like you were but she actually looked confident in it. She smiled at Hyunjin and said something to him, but you couldn’t hear it over the blaring music. Hyunjin said something back to her and he continued walking after that, however, she wouldn’t give up. Hyunjin sighed and told you to stay right here and he’s going to the kitchen for a minute, he’ll be right back. You just stood there completely alone, you grew worried about what he could be talking about with her. ‘Is this one of the girls he used to talk to before you met?’ You wonder to yourself, feeling a bit insecure at that moment. 

“Hey, you look lost.” A man says coming up to you, he had longish brown hair that hid part of his face and he also had a couple tattoos on his arms. 

“No, I’m not, I’m just waiting for my boyfriend.” You say to him, usually, you would say that kind of thing as an excuse but this time you were really telling the truth. It felt so good to say that you actually had a boyfriend. 

“Girl you don’t need to lie to me, and even if you did he doesn’t have to know,” The guy kept trying to flirt with you but you wanted nothing to do with him. You were trapped in this situation though since Hyunjin told you to stay right there until he comes back. 

“I’m not lying,” was simply all you said.

“Okay, well screw your boyfriend come hang out with me tonight, I’ll give you a good time.” 

You wanted to throw up, this is the exact reason why you hated going to parties. The way men try to throw themselves at any woman that gives them the slightest bit of attention always bothered you. You wanted nothing to do with this guy and he wouldn’t leave you alone no matter how hard you tried. 

“My name’s Han, what’s yours?” He asked. 

Then all of sudden it clicked for you. You realized this was one of Hyunjin’s frat brothers trying to hit on you. You knew if Hyunjin caught him doing this he’ll be furious. You’ve got to find a way to get out of this situation quickly. That’s when you heard your boyfriend’s voice behind you,

“Where the hell have you been?” Hyunjin asks Han who’s right across from you. 

“Dude can’t you that I’m fucking busy?” Han says to Hyunjin, he looks back at you as if he’s about to say something but that’s when Hyunjin swiftly interrupts and walks in between the both of you. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Hyunjin starts speaking louder, “I always knew you were a dick but to disrespect me in my face like this is so low even for you!” 

“Disrespect? She’s just some random bitch I met at a party, and I have the right to tell you to fuck off!” 

“She’s what now?” 

You can tell that Hyunjin is only getting angrier the more he talks to Han, he’s already made a fist with his hand and is even getting up in Han’s face. 

“She’s my girlfriend you dumbass!” Hyunjin’s ears became as red as his hair as he was filled with rage. You knew what was about to happen yet you didn’t say or do anything to stop it, it was as if you were frozen in time or something. You just stood there watching everything go down, little by little. 

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? I just met her, maybe if she didn’t dress like such a thot I wouldn’t have gone up to her!” Han starts to get up in Hyunjin’s face too.

That’s when you blanked out for the rest of the time. You don’t really remember much of what happened during those 10 minutes but you do remember Han’s nose was bleeding and so was Hyunjin’s right hand. You think Minho and Chan broke up the fight and made Hyunjin leave or else they were afraid of the cops coming from people running out of the house. You heard Hyunjin say how he didn’t give a shit if the cops came since his father could just easily bail him out anyway. He really hated to brag about things like that but he couldn’t help but gloat about the fact he won’t be paying the consequences for any of this. You don’t remember much else so when you woke up inside Hyunjin’s car you were very confused. 

“Finally awake I see.” You heard Hyunjin’s voice as you flutter your eyes open.

“W-what just happened?” You ask him.

“Nothing, I’m just driving you home and I’m going back to my place to sleep.” He says trying to keep a cool and collected image for you. He’s actually still furious on the inside. Han exchanged more words with Hyunjin and got even more disrespectful towards him, and you. You just didn’t know since you fainted from having a really bad panic attack. Everything went black after Hyunjin threw his fist at Han and the rest was just fading in and out. You notice how fast Hyunjin was driving the car and it induces your anxiety levels. 

“I can’t believe he would say some shit like that to my face,” Hyunjin mutters to himself under his breath, “fucking piece of shit.”

You just sat there trying not to focus on how dangerously fast he’s going down this highway right now. You hug your body for protection, not really sure how fast he’s going but it’s fast enough that you don’t even feel safe being in this car anymore. 

“He’s out of his fucking mind for talking to me like that, I should’ve sent him to the hospital with more broken limbs than just his nose!” His voice grew louder at the last sentence. He’s always been short-tempered and it doesn’t take much for people to piss him off but this was next level. He wanted to hurt Han in a way that he’s never done before, he wanted to hurt him so bad that he never wanted to see him ever again. He couldn’t stand to see anyone talk to you like the way Han did, he had to teach him a lesson. He was just so angry in that moment and driving was what he took it out on. He was going so fast you felt yourself getting dizzy.

“Hyunjin,” You say quietly trying to get his attention.

He doesn’t answer you and simply continues muttering under his breath, you can see the dried blood all over his knuckles and his eyes were solely focused on the road.  

“Hyunjin, can you please slow down?” You try asking politely as you wish he would just snap out of this trance and drive normally. 

He still doesn’t listen and only steps on the gas even harder, making you start fearing for your life. You’re going so fast that you can’t even think straight, other cars on the road were honking at Hyunjin’s car, he didn’t pay attention to any of this at all. He continued to keep driving recklessly and you were shouting asking for him to stop repeatedly. 

That’s when you almost crashed into another car as Hyunjin accidentally ran a red light, he swerved out of the way just in the right amount of time, or else you both would’ve been severely messed up. As the car came to a halt you were heavily breathing in and out, you were about to have another major panic attack twice in one day. This was taking a toll on your already poor mental state so you just sat there in the passenger seat sobbing. You saw your life flash before your eyes in mere seconds and you were visibly shaken up from all of this. 

“I’m so sorry y/n…” Hyunjin finally spoke. 

You were still sobbing and shaking from the almost car accident that happened. You were trying to get yourself to stop but the tears just kept coming. 

“Please don’t cry, I’m so sorry y/n I should’ve listened to you,” He says as he turns towards you. “I don’t know what happened it was like something in my mind just took over me.” 

He goes in to hug you but you flinch, you’re just so vulnerable right now any and everything scares you. You wished none of this had ever happened and you regret even going to this party with Hyunjin. That’s when you start to overthink again, you think about how this whole night was basically your fault. Your thoughts trace back to the party, you think about what Han thought of you and him calling you all those horrible names. ‘Had I not worn this ridiculously short dress, none of this would’ve ever happened’ you thought to yourself. You start to cry again, you wanted nothing more than to wish this night never existed.

“I’m really sorry Hyunjin, this is all my fault” You choke out through your tears, you felt as though you were the sole responsibility for what happened tonight. 

“What are you sorry for y/n and how the hell is any of this your fault?” He says with the most confused look on his face.

“Han was right, I shouldn’t have dressed like this, I only wanted to do it to impress you but still…” You look out the window as you said that.

“Look at me,” He said it like a demand more than a question but you couldn’t face him.

“Y/n, please look at me.” He asks you one more time in a stern voice.

You finally do as you’re told and slowly turn your head to look at him. 

“Your actions have nothing to do with what happened y/n. Absolutely nothing.” He says in a calm tone. “What he said about you was not based on your character, he doesn’t even know you.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath and takes your hand in his, the one that wasn’t stained with blood on them. 

“You also don’t need to change the way you look for me baby, I like you just the way you are already, the girl that I fell in love with.” You were stunned by his sudden words. ‘Fell in love?’ you felt your heart skip a beat. Did he really just mean that?

“You fell in love with me?” You asked in such an awkward way you immediately regret saying that, you hide your face in your hands. 

“If I said I didn’t believe in love at first sight until I met you, would you think I’m lying?” He says, taking your hands off your face and bringing it closer to his. 

“I- I don’t know…” You say to him.

“I really think I’m in love with you y/n, I’m not afraid to admit it anymore. It’s okay if you can’t say it back right now but I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you do one day.” 

You couldn’t help but melt at his words right now, you’ve never felt so appreciated, so loved by anyone before. 

You smiled at him and he came closer to your lips. He pressed his lips against yours and you relax into the kiss right away. You end up aggressively making out with him, he unbuckled your seatbelt and you were now in the driver's seat with him on his lap. Your fingers were entangled in his bright red locks and every time you pulled on it he would wince a bit. Each time you pulled away from the kiss you’d both just grin at each other and go right back to kissing. Each time was more passionate than the last and you would do this all day and night if you could. As you’re both panting and trying to catch your breath from that hot and heavy makeout sesh, you look at how beautiful Hyunjin’s side profile was. His jawline was so sharp, and the way his hair dangled in front of his face was so hot for some reason too. You thought Hyunjin was a walking piece of art, you sometimes couldn’t believe you were dating him. You never thought that he’d felt the same exact way as you did since your self-esteem has always been awfully low, yet Hyunjin reminds you daily how beautiful he thinks you are. He’s told you on numerous occasions how you’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen and how much you mean to him. You thank him each and every time yet you never fully believe everything he tells you. You’re not sure if you can 100% say that you love Hyunjin yet, but you do know for sure that you like him a lot. You showed your feelings for him through kissing and he couldn’t get enough of your charisma. 

“Alright, let me finally take you home,” Hyunjin says as he begins driving again. 

This time he’s driving at the speed limit, not giving you the heart attack you once had moments ago. He’s much calmer now and you can tell that making out with him was the perfect remedy for all his rage. Once he made it back to your dorm you gave him a hug and another long kiss that would leave him feeling completely whipped for you. You giggled as he pouted to you while you walked through the door, not wanting you to ever leave his side. He felt so possessive over you, not in the way that would be toxic, but in the way he wants you to himself. He loves smothering you, kissing you, holding you, he just wants to give you all his love and although you’re not used to it, you’ve grown to really enjoy this side of him. He’s not this way with anyone else so it makes you feel different in a good way, like you’re the chosen one. 

You head inside your room and as you turn on your light you see Sana and another guy on her side of the room fumbling with the blankets. They were both underneath the covers and from what you could presume, naked. You now recognize the guy in the bed with her, it was Changbin. Your mouth was wide open, you’ve never caught Sana doing this before and although you know she has an active sex life you’ve never seen it in action before.

You close your eyes and turn back around “Sorry if I interrupted anything, I’ll be on the couch,” quickly leaving the room as you head towards the living room. You couldn’t believe you just accidentally walked in on your roommate with Changbin, there have been way too many traumatizing moments for you in one night to handle. You suddenly heard the door open once again and it was Changbin coming out. He walked past you and faintly waved you goodbye before leaving out the main door. Once he was gone, Sana came out and sat next to you on the couch just wearing a big t-shirt. 

“Hi y/n, real sorry you had to see all that. I just didn’t know if you were coming back tonight.” She says as she plays with her necklace. 

“It’s fine Sana, it’s literally 4 am I get why you would think that.” 

The room went silent for a bit then Sana finally spoke up again, deciding to ask about your mental state.

 “Are you doing okay? You can be honest with me” She put her hand on your shoulder to comfort you. 

“I’m fine right now… to be honest, I was a mess earlier but I’m actually doing okay right now.” You tell her. 

She sighs in relief, “That’s good.”

“Are you and Changbin a thing now?” You ask her. 

She’s now suddenly taken aback by your words and scoffs at your question, “Changbin is a cool guy but I’m basically sleeping with him just to make Chan jealous.” 

You knew Sana and Chan used to date a while back but they had broken up for some reason, Sana really wants to get back with him one day though. 

“Well, I hope that works out for you?” You say, not really sure if her plan will work. 

“Hyunjin told me that he loved me today” You blurted out to Sana, you didn’t even realize you said it, it just came out. 

“Oh my god that’s amazing y/n, you might’ve found the one!” Sana says taking both of your hands and smiling at you. “Did you say you loved him back?”

“No…” But before she could say anything you made sure to clarify, “That doesn’t mean I don’t like him any less! It’s just I want to take things slow for now.” 

“I get it, especially for you, you need to take things slow. I hope he respects that and doesn’t pressure you to do things” She says.

“He doesn’t, don’t worry he’s very patient with me.” You reassure her. 

She smiles once again and gives you a big hug, she can see how much you’ve grown from this relationship. You’re slowly starting to come out of your shell and soon you’ll become a beautiful butterfly. You’re so happy in your relationship with Hyunjin and Sana can see that through you. She couldn’t be more than happy and supportive of you and although he may have been a player in the past, that was before you knew him, you shouldn’t judge him for his past. We all have rocky moments in our life but that’s what makes us human at the end of the day and you appreciate the good and the bad in him.

You and Sana both head to bed and as you’re about to go to sleep you get a text from Hyunjin, it read the following,

‘B ready by 5 tmrw, it’s a surprise ;)’ 

End<3

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